


The Relentless, Ridiculous, and Rakish

by Cartadwarfwithaheartofgold (manka), tuffypelly



Series: Athena Adaar Saves the World with only Minor Shenanigans [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Developing Friendships, Dragon Age: Inquisition Quest - In Your Heart Shall Burn, Dwarf Culture & Customs, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Family Feels, Family Reunions, Fantasy Racism against Dwarves and Qunari, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, Lyrium Addiction, Lyrium Withdrawal, Mutual Pining, Red Lyrium, Red Templars (Dragon Age), Rescue Missions, Templars (Dragon Age), Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-21
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:28:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 27,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27138005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manka/pseuds/Cartadwarfwithaheartofgold, https://archiveofourown.org/users/tuffypelly/pseuds/tuffypelly
Summary: Inquisitor Adaar thought her brother died in the explosion in the Conclave. When the dark future at Redcliffe shows he didn't, she sends Inquisition scouts to find him wherever he may be while she deals with the hole in the sky she can't keep ignoring.Maria Cadash, stuck between the Carta and Inquisition, her past and future, flirtation and feelings, finds Otsar Adaar and rescues him from Templars. That's only the beginning of a journey that will see them chasing down Otsar's only remaining family and the chance at happiness Maria has been running from while forging a friendship that will last the rest of their lives.Smut in chapter four, all other chapters have a strong M rating for adult themes and graphic violence.
Relationships: Female Cadash/Varric Tethras, Male Adaar & Female Adaar, Male Adaar & Female Cadash
Series: Athena Adaar Saves the World with only Minor Shenanigans [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1980899
Comments: 14
Kudos: 10





	1. A Daring Rescue

**Author's Note:**

> This has been sitting in my docs FOREVER. I wrote it for and with my dear Tuffypelly and then kinda forgot about it. We have decided to publish it! There will be five chapters, updating on Wednesday, until it's complete. I hope you enjoy!

Their little group of intrepid spies sat, breathlessly, in the brush above the rogue templars’ hideout. Maria Cadash saw a torch bob in the gathering darkness, did another quick count of the tall figures outside the decrepit cabins, and turned to the scout on her right. “I’m telling you, I’m still counting twenty-three.”

“Twenty-five.” A soft voice whispered.

“Eighteen, you’re both daft.” A second scoffed.

Definitely between fifteen and twenty-five, at least, but she’d eat her own cards if there weren’t twenty-three. Ritts chewed on the edge of her fingernail, considering. “We could send a note for backup. I think there may be some spare soldiers at the Crossroads.”

Maria could admit that their group of five rogues probably wasn’t equipped to take on a small encampment of templars. She watched another argument break out at the camp below, saw a templar lash out with his fist to catch his brother. The squabbling started again until a rough, commanding voice shouted something that made them seperate, although Maria could tell by their posture that the score hadn’t been settled.

“What is with them?” The elf named Tailor asked, tapping her blade on her cheek.

Maria knew. She’d dealt with enough jonesing templars in her life. “They’re either out of lyrium, or they’re rationing it. The Herald cleared a Carta clan out of Vallamar, that was probably the only supplier in the area. That was _weeks_ ago.”

“Does that make them weaker?” Ritts asked.

“It doesn’t matter.” A quiet, steely human answered. Maria never got this one’s name. “There’s still twenty of them.”

“Twenty-five.”

“ _Eighteen!”_

“Twenty-three.” Maria corrected, standing slowly so as to not disrupt their foliage. “We can’t pull those soldiers the whole way out here if we can’t prove there’s a Qunari down there.”

“That villager was pretty sure, Cadash.” A smaller man muttered. Maria shrugged.

“Villagers are scared shitless. She could’ve seen them carrying a ram in and we both know it. I’ll go down and see what they’ve got.” She picked her bow off the ground and slung it over her shoulder, reaching up to unlace her blouse.

“Well, that’s one way to distract them, although that’s really Ritts’s area of expertise.” Tailor grumbled.

“I’ve got something even better than my tits. To templars, at least.” She reached into her bustier and pulled out two slender, glowing glass vials, grinning in their faint light.

“Got those cards from last night down there too?” Another voice asked wryly.

Maria ignored it, shimmying out of the brush and dusting herself off. She didn’t bother lacing her shirt back up. “I’ll be back in a half hour.”

“We’ll be waiting.” Ritts muttered. “Have fun. Don’t get murdered.”

* * *

She approached the templars’ camp with all the swagger of someone who hustled cards semi-professionally, bow slung jauntily across her back, hips rolling from side to side in just the kind of way that made most men look twice. The guard on duty stood from his slouched, miserable posture. She could feel his wary gaze drop from the tip of her head, lingering pointedly on her curves, dismissing her weapons entirely.

Just the way she preferred.

“What’s your business?” The templar asked. Maria clasped her hands behind her back, a gesture that artfully thrust her breasts out, her creamy skin visible beneath the unlaced top. She’d used this same move on Varric last time they played cards. It worked like a charm then, just like she could see it working now.

“The best kind.” She purred with a wicked, teasing smile. “The kind that glows in the dark, handsome.”

His expression went from hungry to ravenous in an instant. “You selling?”

“Maybe.” Maria winked. “If your boss is buying.”

“Got any on you?” The man scratched at his skin, wild eyes boring into her desperately. A small part of Maria shriveled to see someone, _anyone_ , come to this. The rest of her steeled herself.

“Not on me. But my crew isn’t far if your boss decides to deal.” Maria inclined her head over her shoulder, making her smile as dazzling as she could.

“Come in.” The guard waved her closer and Maria neatly sauntered up, stopping at his elbow to allow him the honor of escorting her forward. She heard him call a name, Allon. A man broke from the rest, the older, grizzled man who’d stopped the two they watched from fighting. This one didn’t tear his eyes from her bow or her dagger as easily.

That made him dangerous. She’d _much_ rather be underestimated.

“Long way out in the muck for a dwarf.” Allon muttered. Maria couldn’t agree more, and the sigh she released was only half theatrical.

“I know.” She twirled one piece of red hair around her finger thoughtfully. “I’d rather be in the city myself, but I like to take advantage of opportunities when they present themselves. I’m Cadash, from…”

“Free Marches.” The man folded his arms across his chest tightly, looking down at her, but she saw the glimmer of hope in his eye. “Carta. Lyrium smugglers, correct?”

“Business people.” She insisted smoothly, extending her hand. “Pleasure to meet you. Got somewhere we can talk?”

The man nodded and stalked off, indicating over his shoulder she should follow. Maria looked around surreptitiously as she walked, counting templars and buildings, supplies and swords. These men were desperate, clearly. Most of them were in tents, although there was another building beyond the one their Commander was leading her to, one made of brick instead of wood.

She’d heard lyrium withdrawal caused fever. She wondered if they preferred to sleep outside, or if they were hiding something in that building. A hulking Qunari, perhaps?

The little decrepit cottage she followed the Commander into smelled of damp and male sweat. Maria wrinkled her nose automatically before she remembered to smooth it, just in time for the man to turn his attention back to her. “How did you find us?”

“Villagers.” Maria stated honestly enough, innocently looking around the cramped quarters. She recognized the lyrium philter immediately, laying in it’s pretty case on the table as though somebody had been staring at it. “Might be a wasted trip. You lot don’t have two coppers to rub together, do you?”

“We have coin.” The man spat. Maria took in his trembling fingers from the corner of her eye but maintained her silence, waiting.

She didn’t have to wait long. “How am I to know you won’t simply take the coin we have and vanish? You’ll bring the lyrium here.”

“Into a camp full of addled templars?” She asked indignantly. “Of course I won’t. I’d like to get paid. Half now, half at a drop about a mile away where you get our product. That’s how we operate.”

Nanna always said you couldn’t trust a templar that was desperate for a hit. Nanna _also_ always said humans were nuts and it was best not to get involved, but Nanna hadn’t seen sodding demons falling from the sky on their heads and a blighted Qunari of all things saving their asses.

“How do I know you have any at all?” The templar growled. Just like she knew he would.

It was so easy, she almost felt bad. _Almost_.

She pulled one of the vials from her pocket and shook it, the blue glow shimmering over her skin, the faint hint of a song a bit louder in the enclosed space. Immediately, the templar froze, greedy and weak.

“Didn’t bring enough for everyone here I’m afraid.” Maria said sweetly. “But I’ll give this up, free of charge. I always _hate_ dealing with templars when they’ve gone hungry too long. Makes you so paranoid.”

His dark eyes flicked from the vial, to the philter on the table, to Maria’s innocent gaze. She saw him calculating, then nodded, jaw tense. “We’ll need to dig up our cache. We buried the coin, it’ll take some time.”

Bullshit. He was gonna take the lyrium and run off into the woods to get rid of his jitters, but that suited her fine. She collapsed in the lone rickety chair at the table, annoyed that her feet didn’t quite touch the ground. Damn humans.

“I’ll wait here, handsome.” She reclined back, examining her nails disdainfully. “Come see me when you’re ready.”

“Don’t poke around.” He snarled, but his feet were already moving, the lyrium vanishing in one pocket, the pfilter in the other. Without another word, accepting Maria’s lazy salute as affirmation, he stormed from the room. She heard him shout for someone to join him.

Sharing was caring, she thought, amused. She waited one heartbeat. Two. When nobody else approached the cabin, she moved to the window in the rear of the building. The wood behind it was dense, leading off to a rather steep cliff, but Maria didn’t need to get the whole way down. She just needed to see what the blighted hell they were keeping in that other building.

She pried the shutter open as quietly as possible and hoisted her frame up, huffing in exasperation as she swung one leg over the sill and jumping to the ground. She tugged her bodice back into place and pressed against the wooden cabin, creeping closer to the other building. The Templars, with their faces pointed to the road, didn’t even notice when she darted to it’s shadow, crowding into it. She waited, listening.

People shouting. Muffled, though, like it was coming from within, but lower. She stalked the shadows to the next door, waiting outside for the slightest sign of noise. When she heard nothing, she cracked it open, peering into the dusty room. It was just an old chantry, abandoned, pews overturned. The cottage must have been for the sister in charge of maintaining it.

Maria paused to hope she was safe, wherever she was, before she slipped inside. She walked toward the smooth, worn statue of Andraste, examining the shadows, waiting for something to leap out at her.

Instead, she heard the distinct sound of a fist hitting something soft, a man’s loud voice yelling. “TELL US WHAT HAPPENED, OX!”

Maria’s blood ran cold, but the sound clued her into the right direction. As quietly as she could, she moved to the northwest corner, to an alcove hidden in shadows. A spiral staircase descended into darkness, but she could see flickering light at the bottom.

She waited. Then another thump. A sneer. “Tired of talking?”

A choked, half laugh floated up past her. “I’m _never_ tired of talking.”

Well, Maria could appreciate a man who could maintain his smartassery under pressure. She could also safely presume they’d located the Herald’s missing brother. She could waltz right out of this camp, scramble back up to the team, and send for soldiers.

She _could_ , but her bow had ended up in her hands, arrow strung, without her really knowing exactly how that had happened. She crept forward, reasoning that she needed to assess how bad this situation really was. People would ask, after all. She was still following the plan.

The same way she followed the rattling of chains and the growl of male voices to the furthest step she could stand on while remaining in shadow. She bent low peering around the wall to take in the scene.

Shit. Oh _shit_.

Two templars, sans armor, stood with her back to her. As she watched, one of them threw a tall figure to the stones before pulling his leg back and kicking the poor thing so hard Maria _swore_ she heard ribs crack underneath the great gasp of pain. The second templar crouched and grabbed one of the man’s horns, wrenching his head back up. Even in the dim light, there was no mistaking those eyes. How many Qunari were wandering around with eyes nearly the same color as her hair? She bet if she got closer, she’d see the green circling the iris.

She’d also get a damn good look at all those bruises. There was a dark one blooming on his jaw, one eye almost swollen shut. One arm twisted at a terrible angle.

“Who killed the Divine?” The second templar asked.

“If I knew.” The man grinned through bloody teeth. “I’d tell you. All you have to do is ask nicel…”

A second punch to his stomach sent him folding in on himself. Maria winced in sympathy.

“Who destroyed the conclave?” The first asked again.

“Who taught you how to hit?” He huffed. “Your gran?”

Another punch sent the man sprawling.

Not a man. A _fucking_ kid. He _had_ to be. Maria wasn’t an expert on Qunari, although she certainly had some questions she wanted answered, but there was no way she was looking at an adult. Athena herself stood at _least_ two Maria’s high. Bull _had_ to be three Maria’s, at minimum. She didn’t think this kid was much taller than a tall human, and definitely not as broad as Bull by far. But, clearly, strong enough to warrant iron chains keeping him on the floor.

The templar reared back for another kick.

But Maria’s bow was in her hands, arrow strung, and they never stood a chance. There was a _reason_ she preferred the shadows. If they never saw her coming, Maria Cadash was unstoppable.

Her first arrow pierced through the templar’s throat, straight through his artery. Blood gushed from the wound immediately, his fist scrambling, trying to pull it out. Foolish, Maria thought. He’d just bleed out faster, but that was fine. She’d already turned to the second, her arrow finding its mark in his unprotected back, thudding between ribs right at his heart. She was so close that she knew it emerged from his shirt in the front, could tell by the way the kid on the floor recoiled from the blood spatter.

She descended the rest of the stairs, wary, as both men fell, blood spreading in a pool around them. She didn’t pay attention to their death throes, eyes instead on the kid forcing himself up on his knees, staring at her with hard, wary eyes.

She let the third arrow she barely remembered stringing dip while she swept her eyes over the makeshift dungeon. Once she was satisfied that they were, temporarily, alone she thrust the arrow back into her quiver, slung the bow back over her shoulder. She forced a reassuring smile onto her face, approaching cautiously. “Hey there. Ready to go?”

“Bit tied up at the moment.” The kid supplied, rattling his chains pointedly.

Maria laughed softly, examining the manacles with a shake of her head. She dived into her bag and retrieved her lockpick case, flicking it open. “Hold still, okay? I’ll manage these in a second.”

“As much as I appreciate the assist, is there a particular reason you’re here?” He asked, peering at her with no small amount of distrust as she set to work. She made a quick job of the first manacle, moving onto the second in only a moment.

“Your sister is looking for you.” She supplied helpfully. “We’re…”

“My sister?” The kid’s hand grabbed her wrist, long fingers circling and overlapping around her much smaller arm. He pressed too hard, but his voice shook, youthful bravado gone.

For a second, he reminded her of Bea so much she wanted to hug him.

“My sister is dead.” He continued. “In the conclave, the explosion, she was…”

“Survived.” Maria confirmed with a bright nod. “Or. Well, you do have a sister named Athena, right? Otherwise, I’ve accidentally rescued the wrong Qunari, which would be _hysterical_.”

“Yes.” The kid’s cracked, dry lips curled up in amazement. “Yes. Athena Adaar.”

“And that makes you Otsar?” Maria queried, gently tugging her wrist free of his slackening grip to return to the manacles. The second one dropped and he tugged his left arm to his side, cradling the broken thing against his torso.

“You can call me whatever you want to be honest.” Otsar swiped his eyes over the bleeding bodies next to him. “Beautiful _and_ deadly?”

She snorted, undoing the final manacle and letting it fall, mock glaring up at the young man quickly staggering to his feet. He was stiff and bruised, but nothing that wouldn’t heal. “How old are you?”

“Old enough to appreciate-”

Maria sighed and rolled her eyes upward, but she couldn’t help her smile regardless. “Right then. So, the good news is, we’re getting you out of here and back to your sister. The bad news is I kinda blew plan A.”

“What’s plan B?” Otsar asked keenly.

“We fight our way out of here.” She explained, looking at the templars.

No weapons. Guess they didn’t need them to beat up a kid chained to the ground.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” Maria spared a glance up to meet the kid’s burning eyes. She was right, a green ring just like his sister’s circled his iris. And Maria knew that look, she’d seen it on the Herald’s more than once. Otsar looked _furious_.

Nanna always said anger could keep you alive if you used it right.

“I didn’t say it was a bad plan.” She supplied smoothly. It certainly wasn’t ideal, but it could work. It was gonna have to. She slipped her dagger from her belt, letting her thumb trace the intricate initials on the handle before she tossed it in the air, catching it and presenting it hilt first to Otsar. “Here.”

“That’s a butter knife.” He complained, frowning, looking wildly around like he may find a blade she missed.

A _butter knife_. Children these days.

“That is fine Dwarven steel _directly_ from Orzammar made by the best smith I ever knew. You lose it, I’m gonna kick your ass.”

“I’ll even bend over so you can reach it.” He sighed, defeated, taking the dagger from Maria’s hand.

She felt bereft for a moment at its loss, cast adrift, but she tamped the discomfort down and slung her bow back in her hands. Otsar limped forward, holding her dagger like she’d just handed him a longsword.

It was… a bit adorable. Like an overgrown puppy.

“Try not to cut yourself.” Maria advised, inclining her head to the steps. “And follow my lead.”

* * *

They emerged back outside the chantry to find the last of the sun had vanished. Otsar leaned back against the rough brick while Maria peered around the corner, counting figures in the darkness. Eighteen around the camp, two dead in the cellar, two off in the woods, which left one unaccounted for. The guard out front, perhaps, beyond her line of sight. Maria pulled the last vial of lyrium from her bodice.

“What else are you keeping down there?” Otsar asked.

Maria rolled her eyes and made a gentle shushing motion. The largest knot of men were by the fire, playing cards. Maria took a deep breath, watching, inching closer to the edge of the building.

It had to be just right. A perfect throw while they were intent on their game. Maria waited.

Then, at just the right second, she gently tossed the vial. It made a small arch before it rolled to a gentle stop just at the boot of one of the templars. They all turned to stare, the cards in their hands dipping.

“You son of a whore.” One of the men accused immediately. “You holdin’ out, Stephen?”

“That isn’t mine. That’s fuckin’ Thomas through and-”

“Hey, you mage lovin’-”

One of the men reached for the vial, another one threw a punch. Within a minute, chaos consumed the entire camp. Maria heard the rattle of blades being drawn and ducked back, notching an arrow. “You’re going first. Stick to the perimeter, I’ll cover you.”

“Who’s covering you?” Otsar asked.

“I’ll slip right past them. I’m small, remember?” Maria also wasn’t the one they wanted. “Now, go. Straight through to the path, veer right at that weird Avaar statue, climb up the hill. You’re looking for the Inquisition and don’t fucking stop until you find them. Do not look back, understood?”

For a second, she thought the damn kid would keep arguing. But, thank the Ancestors, his big sister must have trained him well. He nodded, tense and serious. Then he hobbled past as fast as he could, booking around the perimeter, trying to keep to the shadows.

One templar spotted his horns, their shadow elongated by the flickering firelight. The woman tried to raise the alarm, but Maria’s green fletched arrow found her right eye and anything she could have said came out a strangled scream. Maria strung another arrow, picking off the templar nearest to her from the shadows, creeping after Otsar’s retreating form, attacking from the darkness with deadly accuracy, one eye trained on the Qunari.

She hoped the scouts above were watching this.

Otsar’s form vanished past the abandoned barricade, the guard still missing, and Maria followed. She paused to grab a torch embedded in the ground and toss it onto one of the canvas tents. Giving them one more thing to worry about, after all, couldn’t hurt. She lit one arrow on it and fired at another.

She hoped it was enough chaos to give them time to flee. She turned and darted into the night, following Otsar’s flight. She’d made it about twenty paces before she found her missing templar.

Or, perhaps, he found her.

A heavy gauntlet smacked into her face so hard Maria almost saw stars, her eyes watering. It knocked her back, bow clattering out of her grip. Without a thought, she reached for the dagger on her hip as a heavy human hand grabbed her leather armor.

Except she didn’t _have_ her dagger. She remembered a second too late, her fingers closing on nothing. She dove for the smaller blade in her boot, but the templar was hauling her up even as she struggled to break free. She saw his dark eyes glinting with the fire behind her, blazing like she’d stepped into the void, a snarl stretching his pale lips.

Then a blade slammed into the back of the man’s spine, a perfect strike with an immense amount of power behind it. Maria watched the mad fire in the man’s eyes go out, his grip slackening, dropping her back to the dirt. Maria rolled just in time to avoid being crushed by his falling body.

She stared up at the Qunari looming over her, her dagger dripping black blood in a steady stream.

Her adorable puppy had teeth, apparently. _Good_.

Otsar looked down at her dagger, appraising, and Maria fought the urge to surge forward and grab it from his hands. Instead, she scooped her bow from the ground and strung an arrow, prepared.

“Cadash!” A familiar voice hissed in the darkness. Tailor and Ritts melted from the shadows, taking them both in, then eying the conflagration in the trees behind them.

“In and out in thirty minutes?” Ritts asked dubiously.

“There’s no way I was in there for more than a half hour.” Maria protested, waving to the Qunari hunched beside her. “Otsar, meet the rescue party.”

“Where’s my sister?” He asked immediately. Just in time to be interrupted by a furious scream from behind them.

“Questions are for later.” Tailor advised, taking in Otsar’s limp with a spy’s astute gaze. Without another word, she threw her arm around Otsar’s abdomen.

“Watch his left side.” Maria advised, watching as the kid grit his teeth together, too proud to complain in front of them. “That arm’s broken. Ribs too, I bet.”

“Great.” Tailor huffed, more gently resting her palm on his back. “Ritts, you in front. Casash, cover us.”

Maria gave Tailor another lazy salute, smirking as the elf tried to support the lanky Qunari while they hurried away. She peered over her shoulder, back into the flames, and frowned.

It always came back to fire, she thought. At least for her.

* * *

Maria thought it may have been the middle of the damn night before they stumbled back into their makeshift camp hidden in a cave several miles from the templar’s encampment. As tough as the kid tried to be, he was clammy and pale under his fierce exterior. The other scouts were already there, elfroot scenting the air, a watch posted.

All a well-oiled machine, really. Maria watched as Ritts and Tailor sat the kid down next to their little fire.

“He’s… smaller than I thought he’d be.” The short man with no name muttered. Maria huffed, settling herself on her knees beside him.

“That’s cause he’s a puppy.” Maria gently made to peel the jacket free of the kid, careful of the caked on blood and grime.

“Puppy?” That riled the kid right up, one of those piercing eyes settling on her, the other nearly swollen shut. “I’m not a…”

His protest died off in a grunt as Tailor pushed the jacket from his left shoulder. Maria sent a withering glance over Otsar’s form. “The templars didn’t do a good enough job?”

“Here.” Ritts shoved Tailor to the side. “She’s better at torturing people than undressing them.”

“I’m not a puppy.” Otsar growled, turning his chin back to Maria as her and Ritts worked to get the ruined coat off, leaving him in a dark tunic. “I’m a wolf.”

Maria and Ritts shared a look that, honestly, could only belong to two women who’d dealt with enough wolves to know when they had a puppy on their hands. Ritts smirked and Maria laughed, reaching up to lightly pat the side of Otsar’s face, the less bruised one. “Someday, hot shot. I don’t have a doubt.”

“Listen up shortcake, I am-”

A baby. And underneath that jacket his injuries looked far worse. Maria swallowed her temper and reminded herself that it wasn’t worth marching back down to that camp just to light it on fire again. Instead, she grabbed a pot of fire warmed water and dashed a handkerchief into it. Carefully, she began to dab at the blood and dirt on his face while the rest of the team poured over him.

“These broken?” No name asked, prodding his arm.

“No. They’re always like that.” Otsar declared.

“We’re gonna have to set them. They’ve already started to heal wrong.” The last of the scouts muttered, the tall man named Scissors. Maria bit her lip sympathetically, watching the flash of understanding break over the kid’s face. Then his features set themselves into grim, fatalistic determination.

“You know what that means?” Ritts asked sweetly.

“Yeah, it’s about to get real fun.” He joked weakly. “Just what I always wanted. Two women holding me down while some human breaks my bones. _Again._ ”

“I’ve got Verbena concentrate in my bag.” Maria offered. “You’ll be dancing naked in the fade until sometime tomorrow afternoon, but you’re not gonna feel a damn thing.”

“No.” Otsar snapped. “Do it, I don’t need the verbena.”

“Listen.” Ritts cooed softly. “You don’t need to impress us. Take the verbena, darling, and we’ll get you back to your sister as soon as you wake up.”

“I’m not wasting that much time.” Otsar growled, trying to push himself up on his right arm.

“C’mon hot shot.” Maria placed a gentle, restraining hand on his shoulder. “No need to rush.”

“I _need_ my sister.” Otsar’s voice had a well of desperation churning under it. It cut through Maria, brought a flash of Bea’s sparkling eyes, her mischievous smirk.

_I need my sister._

_Ancestors_ , she missed Bea. She felt like she hadn’t seen her in years. Couldn’t _imagine_ thinking she was dead.

Maria nodded. “Alright kid. We’re gonna have to hold you down.”

“Have at it.” He tried for a crooked grin, it only looked slightly demented in his bruised and swollen face.

Maria wasn’t going to succeed at holding him down, so she slipped away from his side, letting the humans and elves give it a shot. Otsar watched them getting into position, but Maria gently tipped his chin back to his right, holding his bright garnet eyes with hers and grabbing his hand. “Don’t look.” She ordered softy.

They took advantage of her distraction. Maria heard a brittle snap and felt the boy jerk, his hand reflexively closing around her much smaller one, bones grinding together until they ached.

He cried out and Maria slammed her palm over his mouth, unwilling to chance anyone nefarious hearing his shout. He fell back to the ground, shaking, as quiet voices murmured over him. They were using tree limbs to create makeshift cast. Smart.

“Ankle too. Then we can give him some elfroot and let it start to mend.”

“Still a puppy?” Otsar huffed shakily. Maria grinned in spite of herself.

“Yes.” She answered blithely. But not for long, that much was sure.

“Cadash, he breaks your fingers we may as well leave you here.” Tailor snapped.

She felt Otsar’s grip release uneasily, but she twisted her fingers around his. “You heard her. Break my fingers at your own peril.”

Perfect timing. The ankle broke louder, it must have been more healed. Maria was quicker to cover his mouth this time and for a second, she thought he may have _actually_ broken her fingers. Instead, he collapsed backward, swearing beautifully in a language Maria didn’t know. Maria reached into her bag and pulled out an elfroot potion, uncorking it with her teeth. She spat it into the fire and shook the bottle over Otsar’s face.

“Elfroot potion isn’t gonna do much, Cadash.” Tailor mumurred.

“It’ll do a little more than nothing.” Maria answered easily. “There’s a healer at the Crossroads. We stop there, get him fixed up, and get on our way. You can even send a Raven up ahead so the Herald is waiting for him.”

“Herald?” Otsar croaked, snatching the bottle from her hand.

“Oh man do we’ve got a story for you.” Ritts perked up.

“You’ve got it all planned out, don’t you Cadash?” Tailor growled. Maria threw a disdainful glance over her shoulder.

“Do you have a better idea?” Maria asked sweetly.

Tailor’s jaw snapped shut and Maria felt momentarily vindicated. The bottle dropped from Otsar’s hand and Maria picked her handkerchief back out of the pot, wringing it out. “You hungry, hot shot? We don’t have anything good, but I’ve been told it is food.”

Ritts giggled. No-name rolled his eyes.

“I’m ready to go.” Otsar set his jaw stubbornly. “I want to get to Athena. I’ll eat on the way.”

“You’re not moving until the elfroot gets those bones a bit stronger.” Tailor crossed her arms over her narrow chest. “And we’re not going anywhere till first light. There are damn bears out here.”

Otsar ripped his eyes from Tailor to shoot Maria a pleading glance instead, but she shook her head. “Sorry, kid. We move you now, we’re just gonna end up rebreaking your bones.”

He fell back, threw his free hand over a face that was already beginning to lose some of the discoloration.

“What happened to my sister?” He asked, muffled under his arm. “I saw... I saw- The temple went up in flames. Athena was up there.”

Maria had been in the tavern waiting for a templar that never fucking showed up. She’d been about ready to call the whole thing off and go find a mage to buy her stash instead so she could get the fuck out of Haven before the place came down around her ears.

She hadn’t quite moved fast enough. She could still hear it at night, if it was too quiet. The sky ripping open. The screams.

“Yeah.” Maria shrugged uneasily. “That seems to be the only thing anyone agrees on. Athena was definitely up there. She’s definitely the only person that came back down in one piece.”

“She’s the Herald of Andraste.” Scissors stated. “Our lady pushed her out of the rift. I saw it.”

“That’s… a bit more debatable. Somehow, your sister didn’t die. Walked out of a rift, stopped that-” Maria gestured wildly over her head to the northwest. In the dark, the breach wasn’t as easy to see, but it still blotted out the stars and clouds swirled around it. “From growing and spitting out demons.”

“She’s got the mark of Andraste on her hand.” Ritts pushed a tin cup of water under Otsar’s nose. “She single-handedly stopped a Tevinter army from taking over Redcliffe.”

“Bullshit.” No-name growled. “I was in Redcliffe. Fifty frilly mages does not an army make.”

“Wait.” Otsar’s eyes jumped from figure to figure, a grin starting to stretch his split lip. “You’re telling me my Vashoth mage sister is… being called the Herald of Andraste?”

“By a surprising amount of people.” Maria supplied. “She’s got a nice little heretical movement going on.”

Otsar’s semi-hysterical laughter brought a warm smile to Maria’s face. She didn’t bother to hide it.


	2. Chafing at the Bit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Otsar drags himself across the Hinterlands at a brutal pace to find his sister while growing closer to the carta dwarf with a heart of gold. 
> 
> But getting to the Crossroads turns out to be the beginning of their journey instead of the ned.

Otsar woke up with smoke in his lungs, choking on it. He could still taste the dust from the grand temple falling to the ground, could swear he was inhaling Athena’s ashes. Their family home burned on the horizon, his hand in hers while she pulled him forward. The smoke was everywhere, he couldn’t escape it. He couldn’t-

His eyes flew open, stars greeting him instead of rafters. The air was clean, a hint of woodsmoke from a campfire hanging in the air.

And someone hummed horribly off-key nearby.

Muscles, long used to being cramped, protested when he pushed himself up with his right hand. His left arm was trapped in some sort of torture device that was probably meant to be a makeshift splint. _Probably_. He groaned in exasperation while he peered into the grey light of night fading too slowly into dawn.

A small figure was curled by the fire, red hair glinting in the flickering light, pen moving over paper smoothly while she hummed. She flicked her pen at the end of the page, dashing off a signature consisting of two letters, before shaking the sheet of parchment impatiently to get the ink to dry.

“You haven’t been asleep long.” The dwarf said into the silence, not bothering to look at Otsar. “Eager to get moving?”

“You said first light.” Otsar grimaced, rolling his ankle. Yeah. Still broken.

“ _Tailor_ said first light.” Cadash corrected, stretching her arms above her head and arching her back. She’d done the laces on her shirt back up and that… that was a _shame_. If all his rescuers looked so deliciously mused upon arrival, he’d get kidnapped and tortured much more often.

She twisted just at that moment to catch him shamelessly appreciating the glow of her curves in the flames. She didn’t look angry, though, not even irritated. _Amused_ described it best and Otsar wasn’t sure he cared for that _at all_.

“Eyes up here hot shot.” She chided playfully. “How are you feeling?”

“Great. Ready to go. Best get everyone else up.” He uttered cheerfully. Athena. He _had_ to get to Athena.

“I don’t know if this quite qualifies as first light.” Cadash gestured broadly to the dimming stars above them. “Give it another ten minutes. Probably how long it’s gonna take you to get up anyway.”

That sounded like a challenge. He thrust his torso up off the ground with his good hand, leveraging his right leg as well to spare the ankle. He’d made it halfway up on his knee when a large, solid stick appeared in front of his face.

Somebody, probably not the pretty dwarf, had ripped a branch off a tree. It stood just taller than Cadash, a crutch to take his weight off the ankle.

“Here you go.” She supplied helpfully.

Great. Skipping his youth and heading right into old age. He’d grow a long, white beard next.

With a roll of his eyes he ripped the staff out of Cadash’s hands and levered himself up, careful of his sore left side. He took one halting step forward, balancing on the stick.

“Excellent.” The dwarf looked entirely too pleased with herself. She danced back to the fire and returned, holding out her little dagger in a pretty leather sheath. “I need your belt.”

“I want a real sword.” Otsar groaned. “I will give you my belt, tunic, and _anything_ you want for a real damn sword.”

“Dangerous offer, but I’ll keep it in mind for the future.” Cadash winked. “Unfortunately, it’s my spare dagger or your good looks. Your choice, but I can tell you bears don’t care how pretty your eyes are before they start mauling.”

“Fine.” Otsar grumbled, using his good hand to tug awkwardly at the buckle on his breeches, made all the more difficult by her rather distracting smirk. “You know, you could help, I wouldn’t mind.”

“Oh hot shot, I know you wouldn’t.” Cadash tipped her head to the side, red hair dusting her neck. “But you couldn’t handle me.”

He would certainly do his damnedest. Were all dwarven women so short and stacked? Because if so, he’d been missing out on a whole interesting subset of Thedas.

“You sure about that?” He lowered his voice to the octave that _always_ worked on serving maids and tavern wenches. Cadash’s reaction was only to laugh brightly.

“You’re cute.” She wrinkled her nose when she smiled. “Maybe in a couple years. Which is how long it’s gonna take you to get that belt off if you don’t stop you flirting.”

“Venhedis.” Otsar swore under his breath, finally getting the blasted thing undone and holding his hand out for her blade. “Give it here. I’ll put it on.”

Her fingers tightened momentarily on the weapon before she relinquished it, looking up at him with a fair amount of curiosity.

“Ven… ven - he - dis?” She repeated, the foreign word clumsy on her tongue. “What is that? Qunlat? What’s it mean?”

“That you’re on my last nerve.” His thumb brushed over the elaborate dagger handle as he carefully strung it over his belt. He traced the curve of the C, the rise and fall of the M. Somebody custom made this dagger. For _her_.

“Cadash your family name?”

“My clan.” Her features turned wary instantly, her smile not dropping, but Otsar sensed a hint of danger. “You heard of them?”

“No, they important?” He asked.

“Not particularly.” She shrugged. “Although I’m sure Nanna likes to think we are.”

“So what’s the M stand for?” Otsar asked. “Meddlesome? Mysterious?”

Her face softened again, caution tucked away. “Maria, actually. Maria Cadash.”

She flounced into an extravagant little bow, one made completely of wicked mockery. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll get the rest of these blighters up and moving.”

* * *

Moving was not as much a boon as Otsar thought it would be. Yes, doing something _more_ than serving as a templar punching bag felt great. Trying to avoid all the fennec burrows, streams, and piles of bearshit was not as much fun by far.

Maria scouted ahead with No-Name, leaving him with the other two women and Scissors, who at least kept pace with him. Ritts and Tailor always seemed to be lingering behind him, although their conversation was enlightening.

“ _She’s_ in a hurry.” Tailor muttered.

“For a real bath. She’s been telling us so for a week.” Ritts chirped. “Wouldn’t mind one myself. Think we’ll have time at the Crossroads?”

“What is she even _doing_ here?” Tailor growled softly. “She could have signed her lyrium agreements and slithered right back to Ostwick. Why in the Maker’s name did she stay?”

“To annoy you.” Ritts offered sarcastically. “Of course. I highly doubt she was thinking about anything else.”

“She’s _carta._ She wants something. I don’t trust her and neither does Nightingale.”

“I like her.”

“You like everyone.”

Mystery solved. The little redheaded rogue with her deadly aim and serious skills belonged to the Dwarven Carta, which was why she’d gotten so cagey about her family. Clearly, _that_ wasn’t going over well with the human religious sect trying to close the hole in the sky.

The hole Athena fucking fell out of. Otsar lifted his eyes to it again, trying to memorize the swirl of green in the clouds. He could barely remember it from before he’d been nabbed. _Swore_ it had started out smaller.

As he watched, he swore he saw lightning behind it. Or through it. Lightning… lightning coming from _below_ it.

“I hate to interrupt this riveting gossip session.” Scissors called over his shoulder. “Anyone see the breach doing something weird?”

“Maker’s balls.” Ritts swore, but Tailor was already shoving past him.

“Cadash!” She yelled.

Otsar heard someone answer, but he didn’t know what was said. Instead he watched the unfamiliar magic lance the sky, breathless and uncertain. It wasn’t anything he’d seen before, but he felt like he’d seen it a hundred times too. He swore, even from this far away, he _knew_ his sister’s magic. Knew it in his bones.

The light seared the sky and his ears popped with the force, temporarily blinded by a flash of light brighter than the sun. His eyes watered and he blinked rapidly, staring at an unmarred sky.

“Holy shit.” Scissors whispered. “She did it. She _actually_ did it.”

She. _Athena_. “She closed it?” He repeated.

“The Breach. The Herald saved us all.” Ritts bounced forward, grinning from ear to ear. “She’s saved us, it’s a miracle.”

“It was magic.” Scissors argued. “The mages must have agreed to help. But still. They did it. They fuckin’ did it.”

“How far are we?” Otsar asked. “How far to the Crossroads?”

“At least another day with the pace we’ve got going.” Ritts sighed. “I’m afraid you’re stuck with us, but your sister is gonna be so happy to see you.”

Not as happy as he’d be to see her. Otsar swallowed his emotions and staggered forward. “We need to push harder.”

“We can push harder, but you’ll regret it.” Scissors advised. “Better not, kid.”

Otsar simply cursed under his breath and pushed on.

* * *

Otsar didn’t want to admit how much he felt like he’d fallen off a horse. Into a ravine. _That was on fire_. But when they stopped, the path too dark to continue on, he was… well, not grateful. He’d rather keep moving, no matter what, but his body welcomed the rest regardless.

“We don’t have anymore elfroot potions to give you.” Maria frowned, examining his swelling critically. “I fucking told them to slow down.”

She had. Tailor had told her she wasn’t in charge and Maria stomped off ahead, again, saying she’d just keep scouting.

She’d probably been right, but it wasn’t in Otsar’s best interest to tell her so. Maria called for a cup of hot water and sat beside him, undoing her belt and pulling a pouch from it. She withdrew a bruised clump of leaves, peeling several from it. Otsar could smell the bitter medicinal tang of Elfroot. “You manage to make an elfroot potion out here, I’ll eat your dagger.”

“ _I’m_ not even that good.” Maria admitted. “But, you can put them in hot water. Makes a weak tea. Tastes like shit, of course, but it’ll get that swelling down and we won’t have to carry you into the Crossroads tomorrow.”

Otsar huffed. “You’re not carrying anyone, shortcake.”

Maria thanked Ritts as she passed the steaming tin cup, tossing the leaves in it and shoving the rest in her bag. Otsar knew, immediately, she was also correct about the taste from the smell _alone_. He wrinkled his nose instinctually.

She spared a glance up at him through her lashes, lips twitching, before she pulled something else out of her bag. A tiny little jar with something golden shimmering within. “Don’t tell anyone else and I’ll give you some.”

His mouth was watering already. “Is that honey?”

She passed the tin mug to him and unscrewed the metal lid, the sweet scent of summer engulfing them almost as soon as she did. She tipped the jar into his mug, the thick golden substance slowly trickling out. She gave him a frankly generous amount before she pulled back, licking a bit off her finger and closing her eyes with a delighted little hum.

Fuck it. He didn’t care if she murdered babies in her free time, let alone a little lyrium smuggling.

“Cadash, you’re on third watch again tonight.” Tailor snapped, stalking past. “Get bedded down.”

She didn’t quite roll her eyes, but Otsar could tell it was a close thing. “That’s a shitty watch you keep pulling.”

“Tailor assigns ‘em.” Maria shrugged carelessly.

“Tailor doesn’t care for you at all.” Otsar whispered, and he wasn’t sure how much Maria being Carta really had to do with it. The dwarf exuded a certain… something Otsar associated more with Athena than anyone else. She carried herself like she _expected_ to be obeyed, but she never stopped watching the rest of them, keeping a running tally of who needed what.

Maria Cadash was the leader. Tailor was fooling herself thinking otherwise.

“You’re not gonna believe this.” Maria smiled carelessly. “This is an improvement on our initial relationship. Drink that shit and try to get some rest, Otsar. We’ll be on a damn horse on our way up the damn mountain tomorrow.”

With that, she stood, sauntering off to find her bedroll. Otsar held the mug in his hand, the warmth leaking into his fingers. He watched her through the flickering flames while she picked up a thin mat and looked to the west, towards where the breach had been. The night before, she’d set herself apart from the others too. A barely noticeable difference, but one he understood now.

“Maria.” Otsar called. She looked back at him, cocking an eyebrow, at once warily alert and playfully attentive. He jerked his head to the spot beside him. “If you’re looking for the best place to lay down, this one has the fewest rocks. I already checked.”

“Kind of you, Serah.” Maria’s smile softened into something genuinely warm, just like the mug in his hand that smelled more of honey than elfroot now. “But you should take that rock free spot and get some rest.”

If she didn’t lay down there, the other spies would drift off in their groups, and Otsar would be alone in this corner of his darkness, trying _not_ to remember he was alone. Trying not to think about the clank of the templars’ armor or the temple going up in a blaze before his very eyes with Athena inside it.

Even if she was sleeping, he wouldn’t be alone. She’d be a silent, calm presence. A reminder that even if things weren’t quite well yet, they _would_ be. She watched him with those steady gray eyes while he tried to flail for something that didn’t sound like a little boy pleading with his mother to keep the monsters away. He wouldn’t make _that_ much of a fool out of himself.

“Fine.” He settled on huffing. “But when a bear comes and eats you, shortcake, I don’t want to hear about it.”

She’d seen too much with those shining silver eyes, he knew it. He waited for her to laugh, amused by his weakness, but her warm smile didn’t falter. “Well, if the rock-free spot comes with bear protection, how can I resist?”

He managed not to let out a relieved sigh as she circled the fire again, laying out her bedroll with practiced efficiency. She didn’t remove her boots, but did slip her jacket off her slender shoulders, folding it into a makeshift pillow before shucking her belt and bow beside him.

“If you steal the rest of my honey, we’ll have words.” She warned playfully. The only impractical concession she made to sleep was reaching up to tug her half pulled back hair completely free, unspooling the braids tied into the red strands. Beyond that, she was ready to go in a moment.

Otsar could appreciate that.

“Your secret is safe with me.” Otsar promised. She huffed quietly, settling down and pulling a thick wool cloak over her.

“Get to sleep.” She ordered, muffled under the fabric. “That hike up the mountain is a bitch.”

He couldn’t sleep. He _couldn’t._ At first it was the rain, a gentle patter that made the fire gutter and seeped into his bones. He swore it had even woken Maria, if only for a moment, because she’d pulled the hood of her cloak over her head with a jumble of dark cursing.

Instead, he began to sort through the supplies this team carried with them. One elfroot potion, their spare in case of emergencies. Another tiny vial of lyrium, purloined from Maria he bet, she had to know it was missing but probably didn’t care to make a fuss. It glimmered blue in his palm when he slipped it back into her pouch. Whetstones for blades, flints to strike a fire, golden bottles of stamina draughts, ink and paper, a tool with different letters switched around for writing in code. Ram jerky and dried apples, needle and thread. It was a tidy little operation, at least, and well-stocked.

Athena always ran her team that way too. Tidy and well-stocked. He wondered what she was doing. If she was thinking of him. They said he’d been thought dead, for a while, and then just missing. Somewhere in the Hinterlands, maybe, but who knew where, and this was just _one_ team trying to find him. There’d been others.

Athena was the only one who could fix the whole in the sky because of some magic that joined with hers during the explosion. She’d do what she _needed_ to do to save innocent lives, but now that it was over… well, she could be setting out to the Hinterlands right now to join the search.

If he got to this Crossroads just to find out Athena was heading the opposite direction…

They weren’t supposed to be apart. Adaars stuck together. _They had to_.

There was a lullaby, one Athena said their dad wrote. Sometimes, if he tried to remember, he thought he could hear an accented, rich voice echoing in his mind. But it was Athena’s gentler, softer voice that carried the words in his memory, soothing and precious, a beacon to keep the dark at bay. He found himself singing the familiar words, his father’s language a precious, shining thing. The rest of their group slept, with the exception of No-Name, who prowled around the perimeter like a spooked cat.

He didn’t think there was anyone to hear him.

“You’ve got a nice voice. Didn’t expect that.”

He nearly dropped the bottle he held and whipped his face to peer at the still bundle next to him. She blinked drowsy eyes at him, voice sleep rough as she continued thoughtlessly. “Never heard that song. It’s pretty.”

“It’s… it’s…”

“A lullaby?” Those striking eyes were coming more alive with every second, much to his general discomfort. He didn’t particularly want her alert and asking questions.

“Nothing.” He insisted. “It’s nothing.”

“You should start serenading the ladies.” She continued aimlessly, blinking slowly, eyes raking over his obvious unease. Her lips twitched. “We could get you a lute. Train you to be a bard, get you a job offing nobles in Orlais.”

“Would I have to wear a mask? Because that’s a deal breaker.” Otsar stated bluntly. Maria laughed, a soft, sleep-warmed sound.

“What’s the song?” Maria asked gently. Otsar’s shoulders stiffened.

“What, nobody sang lullabies over your dwarven cradle?” He asked snidely.

Maria’s expression remained tender, patient, and too damn understanding for his comfort. She took in his rigid posture with another blink of her pale eyes.

“Not that I remember, honestly.” She admitted. “My parents died when my sister was still in nappies and Nanna isn’t the singing type. She did teach me to slit a man’s throat in two seconds, though. Probably more useful.”

Otsar took the opening immediately, leaping at the opportunity to distract her. “You have a sister?”

Her wry smirk let him know she knew he was dodging her, but she was too kind to chase him down. “Younger by four years. She’s… well, honestly, who knows where she is right now. She’s got a problem with staying in one place too long. _She_ was supposed to be in Haven when it blew up, but got caught with her pants down in Markham instead. Nanna sent me to finish up the lyrium deal instead.”

“Lucky break for you.”

She laughed again, eyes closing. “I always did have the strangest luck. Could’ve been worse. I was thinking about making my way up to the temple when it blew. Instead, I got stuck mediating a dispute with my crew.”

“And you stayed.” Otsar examined her profile critically. “I was there when the temple went. I remember…”

Smoke. Flames. People screaming. Athena, _gone_.

“Atrast tunsha. Totarnia amgetol tavash aeduc.” The foreign words dropped like stones into the silence. He frowned, piercing Maria with a confused gaze. She shrugged under her cloak. “Dwarven words for the dead. It translates roughly to letting the stone have what belongs to it while the living keep living. You were there, kid. You got out of it, and you survived that shitty dungeon. You gotta keep moving. We all do.”

Well, if that wasn’t an Adaar sentiment through and through, Otsar didn’t know what was. Still… “The whole world changed. I watched it.”

“Damn right you did.” Maria mumbled. “There’s no way you can watch shit like that and be the same. But you can’t carry it all with you. Not even if you’re twice as tall as you actually need to be.”

“Don’t worry, shortcake, you’re still tall enough to ride if you want.” The bravado didn’t come easily, not with the rain seeping into his coat or the ache of his mending bones. Not with the memories that still haunted him. But it still came. And it made Maria huff a delighted little laugh into her arm.

“I’ll keep it in mind.” She teased.

“Are you going to go back? To the Carta?”

The laughter vanished and those silver eyes were suddenly wide open, peering at him thoughtfully. She didn’t ask how he knew, she probably figured they were gossiping about her.

“They’re family.” She said quietly. “And I love them.”

“That’s not a no.” Otsar pointed out.

“It’s not a yes either.” Maria reasoned quietly. “I don’t know, honestly. Someone told me once, a long time ago, I could be more. But… well, I stopped believing it. I stopped _wanting_ it. I feel like I’ve been sleeping for years. I didn’t wake up until…”

“The hole in the sky?” Otsar asked.

For some reason, Maria’s wide grin soothed him. “Hell of a wake up call, wasn’t it?”

She wasn’t wrong. Otsar smiled back, looking up at the dark sky, the rain drops falling on his skin like tears.

“How can you sleep through this?” He asked, shifting in the misty damp.

“It’ll be a blizzard in the mountains. Thank all my damn ancestors we’re missing that shit.” Maria mumbled. “Haven will be half buried by the time we get up there. Damn drifts up to my tits.”

What a city girl, he thought with no small degree of amusement. “The offer to ride still stands.”

“I’ll keep it in mind.” She mumbled. “Now let me sleep.”

* * *

In the morning, they sloughed through the Ferelden mud with minimal complaints. The spies seemed more lighthearted, and Otsar finally saw signs of civilization. An outpost manned by guards wearing Inquisition uniforms who greeted Ritts by name. A shepherd who fell into a blushing mess when Maria tossed a saucy wink in his direction.

The Crossroads itself could best be called organized chaos. Otsar limped through the gate and Scissors immediately pointed to a hut just to their left, the back of it bordering into a charming field of trampled vegetables. In spite of the destruction, the people for the most part _looked_ healthy. The refugees wore warm clothes, at least, and nobody had the look of having been eating nothing but grass for days.

Tailor swung the door to the hut open, revealing a neat semi-circle of cots. Some occupied, some not. An elven woman straightened from over one of the patients, frowning at them. “You lot. _Again_.”

“It’s not us this time.” No-name jerked his head at Otsar limping in after them. “Got a second?”

The healer’s gaze skipped over his assorted injuries. “That is going to take more than a second. Take a cot.” Otsar stepped forward to the one nearest to the door, but she tsked. “No, not that one. Any other one.”

Otsar rolled his eyes to the ceiling and hobbled to the next cot, dropping on it gingerly, sparing his aching bones. Maria perched herself on a low table, watching as Otsar settled down. “Her bedside manner could use some work, but she’s a good healer. Swear.”

“As long as I don’t have to stay here.” Otsar muttered. Tailor, Ritts, and Scissors vanished. No-name leaned back against the wall by the door, pulling his blade from within and checking the edge.

“Just long enough to be set right.” Maria was beaming now, undoing the loose braids holding her hair back and running her fingers through them before she carefully, deftly, began to arrange them into something a bit more intricate. “Tailor will grab some of those damn horses and we’ll be off. The road is marked well, and safe, we should roll into Haven about midnight.”

Maria smoothed her bodice over her waist thoughtfully, humming an off-key note under her breath.

“You’re excited.” He muttered.

“For a real bath, a tavern, and a decent game of Wicked Grace.” Maria fluttered her lashes innocently. “I’ve been trekking through the mud for _days_ looking for you, hot shot.”

“Worth it?” He asked with his own saucy grin.

“We’ll see.” Maria chirped, finishing up one of her braids and pinning it back before she started the next one. The healer and her assistant came to stand over him, glowering at his injuries.

“Creators. What happened?” She asked, probing his bruised jaw as her assistant began to undo their makeshift cast. Thank the bleeding Maker because it itched like a son of a bitch.

“Templars wanted me to talk. Then stop talking. Or start talking about other things. Honestly, the instructions were a bit unclear.” Otsar tried not to flinch as the assistant poked his broken arm.

“Right. Bones first then.” The Healer sighed, rubbing her hands together. “This is going to be warm. Might feel like you pissed yourself when I move onto your ankle.”

“Don’t actually piss yourself.” Maria advised with a sultry laugh.

Before he could snap back at her, the healing magic pulsed through his veins like liquid gold, warm and smooth as whiskey. The aches in his bones began to melt away, mana thrumming in time with his pulse.

He closed his eyes, let it wash over him, let it loosen everything that was tense. It could have been minutes, _fuck_ it could have been hours, before the warmth began to fade. He opened his eyes blearily, looking at the healer.

“Stay put.” She directed. “Let the magic set.”

“You.” She barked at her assistant, pointing at him. “Don’t let him move. I’m going to get some elfroot for these minor cuts.”

Otsar let his head roll to the side, staring up at Maria perched on the table. She’d gone still, rigid, her eyes narrowed on something by the door. He followed her gaze, landing on No-Name and Tailor deep in agitated conversation. Tailor waved a scroll under his nose. Both spies looked drawn, tense.

Something knotted in Otsar’s stomach. “Maria… that doesn’t look good.”

“No.” She agreed softly. “No, it doesn’t.”

With that, Maria slipped from the low table, hips swinging too casually while she sauntered across the space. As alluring as that swagger was, Otsar barely registered it, focused instead on the way both of the other spies shut up as she approached. The way Tailor’s fingers gripped the scroll in her hand. Maria tipped her head to the side, bright and inquisitive, a smile playing on her features.

Tailor snapped something too quietly for Otsar to hear. But whatever it was made Maria’s smile freeze, then drop like a dead fly. Her face went pale, freckles on her nose standing stark, and she shook her head in shock. Her lips whispered something, but Tailor shook her own head immediately. No-name folded his arms across his chest and leveled a glare at Maria as she began to plead a case for…

For something.

If he got just a bit closer he may be able to hear. He struggled to sit up, but the assistant pressed him back down with a hiss. “You get up now, you’ll break those damn bones again.”

He didn’t want that. They needed to get moving, needed to get to his sister, but he couldn’t rip his eyes away from Maria as she began gesturing.

Tailor drew herself up to her full height, glared down at Maria like she was scum that Tailor found on the bottom of her shoe. Otsar watched the woman’s nose wrinkle in disgust, heard the words that Tailor spat loud enough for everyone to hear. “If you don’t like it, Cadash, you’re free to run back to the Carta where you belong.”

Athena always said violence was a last resort, but Otsar would deck the woman in a second if he could get up. Maria’s face went shuttered, still as stone. For a breathless second, everything was frozen except the color slowly rising in red splotches up Maria’s neck, her ears.

“Fine.” Maria hissed, spinning on her heel towards the door.

If Maria was leaving, Otsar was going with her. Broken bones be damned. He let out a strangled shout, her name echoing in the room. Both spies turned to look at him, but so did Maria. Her ashy eyes flashed and she stared at him for a heartbeat. Another. He watched her come to some sort of resolution, shoulders stiffening as she crossed the room. No leisurely saunter this time, but a fast clip.

“I need my butter knife back, kid.” She stated darkly, loud enough to be heard.

“Maria…”

“You heard them.” She snapped, reaching for his belt without a second thought. Her clever fingers had the clasp undone in seconds and she was pulling her blade free. The assistant above him sputtered and she snapped at him. “What’s your issue you nug faced…”

The man made an utterly undignified squeak, stepping away from Maria’s fury. Otsar took the chance to grab for her arm at the same time she leaned down and tugged her dagger free. “Be ready to go in an hour.” She whispered desperately as he dug his fingers into her arm. “Can you do that?”

Yes. Yes, he could. If she came back, if she… Otsar spared a look in her fierce eyes. Saw them crackling with the same passion that drove Athena during the worst times.

Otsar let go and Maria whirled away without another word. She slammed the door to the hut behind her, the healer squawking in dismay. Otsar slammed his own gaze into Tailor and No-Name.

“What happened?” He hissed.

“Haven was attacked.” Tailor reported. “We’ve been told to wait here for orders, the village was evacuating. We _need_ to follow orders.”

He _needed_ to get to Athena.

“Right.” He growled, sinking into his cot.

One hour. One _fucking_ hour and he was leaving with or without Maria.


	3. Red Lyrium Remnants

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maria and Otsar steal a horse and make their way to Haven, only to find it completely wiped away. What follows next is a desperate dash forwards.

Thankfully, they left him under the healer’s supervision and she was _swamped_. While she prodded an old man with a cough, a kid with a bloody skull, and a woman who looked like she was ready to give birth to twins at any moment, Otsar waited.

Fifteen minutes. A half hour. Forty-five minutes.

Just when he felt like he couldn’t wait anymore, he caught sight of the brilliant flash of red hair outside the door. It was simply a fleeting hint of color in the noon sun, but Otsar had only ever seen _that_ crimson color on one fierce, tiny dwarf. He rolled to his feet smoothly.

“Just need some air!” He stated before the assistant could even question him, ambling with false serenity towards the open door.

Nobody stopped him. Although, honestly, who in this little makeshift village was going to try to stop the Vashoth mercenary from doing what he wanted now that he wasn’t limping along like he was eighty years old?

He twisted immediately to follow the direction he thought he’d seen her vanish in, around the corner, behind the hut, straight towards the trampled fields. Otsar spun around the side just in time to come face to face with her fiery gray eyes. She had two packs slung over her slender shoulders with her bow and quiver, but she also held a long, thick bundle nearly as long as she was tall. She thrust it towards him with a small, pleased smile.

He reached for it greedily, almost tearing it out of her hands and removing the coarse cloth covering it. It wasn’t his blade, that’d been lost when he woke up in the templars’ dungeon, but this was a damn fine replacement. A greatsword made of obsidian with a wicked sharp edge, hilt made of veridium and wrapped in soft leather.

“Sweet Maker, did you steal this?” He asked, feeling the reassuring weight of the weapon in his hand.

“I bought it, thank you very much, and you owe me a tidy little sum.” She jerked her thumb over her shoulder. “I did steal the horse that I’m _praying_ to all my Ancestors you can ride.”

“You stole a horse?” Otsar didn’t know whether to laugh or groan at the thought of this tiny woman stealing a damned horse. “From who? Some farmer?”

Maker, he hoped not. He’d have to give it back.

“Technically, it belongs to the Inquisition. So we’re just borrowing it.” Maria slung off one of the packs and threw it at him. “C’mon hot shot, let’s go before-”

“ _Cadash_.”

Otsar just caught the bag with his fingers when a figure peeled off from the shadows, a blade held loose and ready in his left hand. Maria was quick to draw her bow, an arrow strung in a heartbeat, pointed right at No-Name’s face. He looked at it, then flicked his eyes to hers. “You gonna shoot me in cold blood?”

“If I have to.” Maria answered softly. Her hands didn’t shake and she stared up at the human with calm, icy determination. “Move.”

“You’re in an army now, Cadash. You can’t just do what you want.” No-Name growled, gesturing with his blade over his shoulder, then sweeping it to take it Otsar behind Maria. “Stealing supplies. Kidnapping an asset. Disobeying direct orders. You go through with all this, soldiers in other armies have danced on a rope for less. Best case, they’ll throw you in a cell to rot underground somewhere. Nothing but you and those spiders you’re so bleedin’ scared of.”

“Move.” Maria ordered again, voice taut as her bow string.

It was Otsar that moved instead, striding forward in a blur past Maria. Her eyes twitched to follow his form for just a second before returning to No-Name and his blades. Otsar shoved past him, far too casually. “I didn’t join an army and I’m going.”

“Kid, stay put.” The man growled, one eye on Maria and her bow, thinking she was clearly the more deadly threat.

Maybe. She had a hell of an aim, after all, but Otsar felt pretty damn good after his healing. Good enough to let them know what he thought of this little setup.

Without thinking, he slammed his elbow back into the unguarded side of No-Name’s neck, causing the man to immediately stagger and drop one of his blades. He shoved the hilt of his new blade into the man’s stomach and he doubled over, just long enough for Otsar to smash his other arm off the hut, the second blade falling to the ground.

He shoved his forearm against the man’s throat and held him, pinned, against the building. His panicked pale eyes fixed on Otsar’s.

“Threaten her again, it’ll be the last thing you do.” Otsar promised, releasing the pressure on the man’s throat just long enough to grab his hair and slam his head against the wood, loud enough that Maria’s arrow dipped and she winced sympathetically.

He’d be fine, though. Otsar could have hit him much harder. The bastard would have deserved it.

He turned a triumphant grin to the pretty dwarf, swinging his new blade up above his shoulders and striking a victorious pose. “Impressed yet?”

“Oh for the love of…” She laughed, swinging her bow back over her shoulder. “C’mon. Before they come looking for him. Fuck Tailor, but I’d hate to hurt Ritts or Scissors.”

Fuck Tailor _indeed_. Otsar followed Maria back behind the hut to the pretty mare grazing serenely. Maria frowned at it like it was a dragon instead and turned to him. “Can you ride?”

“Have to learn to be Valo-Kas.” He supplied. Maria’s shoulders eased and she fiddled with her coat anxiously.

“Good.” She stated. “Cause I can’t. So you’ll have to-”

Oh, that was too good to pass up. He stared down at her, an amused smirk twisting his lips. “You can’t ride a horse? Seriously?”

“I never needed to before signing up for this nugshit.” Maria wrinkled her nose in distaste, glaring at the placid animal.

“Right. Give me that.” At least she’d had the sense to steal a horse already saddled. He stole her own pack from across her shoulders and approached the animal, running his palm gently down her warm muzzle. She nosed his hand in curious greeting and he smiled, taking in the form of the creature critically.

For not knowing what she was doing, Maria had picked a fine creature. She either had amazing luck or a thief's eye for nice things, and he bet he knew which. Otsar quickly affixed his own supplies to the saddle, then hers. As he worked, he felt her eyes noting the deft movements of his fingers.

“Did you manage to learn anything else?” He asked. “About Haven? My sister?”

Maria was quiet for a beat too long before she answered. “Rumor has it that the templars attacked. I don’t know if that’s true.”

Bile rose up his throat before he could swallow it. Suddenly, his fingers looked clumsy, stange against the buckles of the saddle. “Athena’s a mage.”

“We’ve noticed.” Maria replied dryly. “One who can take care of herself, kid. I’d bet on your sister over a damn near army of templars. And the message said they were retreating, nobody was gonna forget the damn Herald in Haven.”

Athena wouldn’t leave until everyone was out. Otsar knew it. Otsar fucking _knew_ it. He tugged his knots impatiently until he felt they were secure and turned to the dwarf at his elbow. “You ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.” Maria said glumly.

In spite of himself, in spite of his exhaustion, the gnawing worry in his bones, Otsar laughed. He had to bend almost double to slip both hands around the leather cinching in Maria’s waist. He kept them there as he swung her up, feeling her soft gasp of surprise against the top of his head as he settled her on the saddle. The horse whinnied nervously and Maria’s fists clenched, reflexively, in his coat.

“Shortcake.” He couldn’t keep the laughter from his voice. “Are you _serious_ right now?”

“Laugh it up.” Maria let go immediately. “When we run into bandits, I’m going to let them wipe that grin right off your face before I rescue you.”

“Provided someone helps you off the horse first?” He teased, swinging easily up in front of her. The horse took a slight step forward to compensate for his added weight, but Maria clearly didn’t know that was a normal thing that horses on occasion did. She scrambled to clutch at his waist for dear life and pressed herself firmly against his back from delightful breasts to the spread of her hips.

Athena, Otsar reminded himself desperately. His sister was in trouble, from templars, and this rather pretty dwarf with the sinful curves was helping him. Find his sister. Because of the templars and the danger. He _absolutely_ could not stop to try and sweet talk her out of those breeches. Athena would never let him hear the end of it.

Still. He couldn’t help himself.

“If your hands go any lower, you’re gonna to have to buy me a drink.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake.” She blurted out into his back. “Do I _look_ like a woman who has ever had to buy a drink for _myself_ let alone someone else?”

“No.” He admitted with a cheerful grin. “But there’s a first time for everything.”

Before she could retort, he snapped the reins. The horse turned on a copper, responding immediately to his clear direction to start moving. Whatever sound had been coming out of Maria’s throat turned into a rather indignant and _adorable_ squeak as they took off across the fallow fields. Her fists tightened and he felt her huddle into his back.

Quietly, he hoped reassuringly, he placed one of his hands over the back of hers. A silent gesture of support.

“There are reasons dwarves don’t ride horses.” Maria muttered, muffled, into his coat. “Damn good ones.”

But she didn’t throw his hand off, and that was something. “Alright shortcake. How am I getting to Haven from here?”

“Hopefully on your own because I can’t see a sodding thing.” She continued unhelpfully. “If we get attacked, shout a direction you want me to shoot because your damn torso is too damn big for…”

She couldn’t see anything because she wasn’t even trying to. He could imagine the way she’d screwed her eyes shut as she fought through the anxiety threatening to overtake her. Honestly, if… _when_ they found his sister, Otsar was going to teach her to do better than this. If she could face down a camp of templars, she could manage a horse. Maybe a smaller one, but a horse nonetheless.

“Give me a direction to travel and I’ll let you squirm in peace.” He offered wryly.

“North.” She bit out. “Follow the imperial highway along Lake Calenhad until you’re at the widest point and you can’t see the other side anymore. There’s a road there into the mountains, that’s how you get to Haven. Half a day’s ride to the pass. Then another blighted six hours up it…”

Oh he didn’t know about that. Maria had stolen them a hell of a horse.

* * *

Somehow, Maria always managed to forget how much colder it got in the mountains. It didn’t help that darkness had fallen as they climbed up into the pass on their stolen mount. Maria’s nose felt like it may fall off, she hadn’t been able to feel her ass for miles, and the leather gloves she wore did precious little to keep the cold from the fingers she _dearly_ relied upon.

She should have stayed at the Crossroads rather than take the mountains clinging to a damn kid for dear life and shivering her tits off. Oh, and he was _definitely_ a kid. If he was a day over twenty, she’d eat her own bow for breakfast.

She’d made several serious errors in judgement to end up here. The first, of course, was going to Haven instead of heading right for Markham to kick Bea’s ass. The second was _staying_ because she just _had_ to know what would happen next. The third…

_The third was getting sucked into Varric Tethras’s orbit._

Stone help him if he’d gone and died on her. She’d figure out a way to call up him in front of all their glorious bleedin’ ancestors to give him a blistering lecture he’d never forget.

She didn’t kiss him. She could have. She _should_ have.

If she’d have known that could have been the last time she saw him, she _would_ have.

She kept replaying it in her mind. His uncertain half smile as she rose from the table, the way he shivered under her fingers when she ran them playfully over his shoulder as she sauntered away.

He watched. She knew he watched, she _felt_ his eyes searing into her back. She turned and threw him a roguish wink before slinking out the tavern door and into-

“You’re awfully quiet back there.” Otsar called over his shoulder cheerfully.

“I’m awfully cold.” Maria complained immediately, but without any of the venom she’d tried to maintain. She didn’t have much ire left in her any longer, not past the gnawing worry.

The road was quiet, too damn quiet. There should have been scouts. People going up and down the pass. Where had they all gone?

“You’ve been cold the whole time. I’m used to hearing about it every twenty minutes.” Maria could hear the sly grin on his face.

“Just reminding you I’m back here.” She muttered darkly. Otsar laughed, slowly guiding the horse around another curve, the last in the narrow pass before they emerged into the valley and could climb up the hills to Haven.

Almost back. Almost to the little tavern where Varric said he’d see her later. Almost…

Otsar pulled the reins sharply, the whole horse jerking, the kind of move he’d been so kindly careful not to make because she panicked immediately, twisting her frozen fingers more tightly into his tunic and jacket.

“Maria, it’s gone.” Otsar whispered, low and soft, voice laced with disbelief quickly edging into despair. “It’s _gone._ ”

Her immediate gut reaction, that she hadn’t heard him correctly or that he’d somehow lost his damn mind, melted away as she twisted around him precariously. She hung halfway off the horse to get a good view of the white abyss in front of them.

There had been trees. A road curling up the last valley to Haven sitting proudly above. A shimmering lake and smoke rising from nearly constantly lit fires. Now, as Maria peered into the darkness lit only by starlight, she saw nothing. _Nothing_.

The whole slate wiped clean. Isn’t that what she wanted when she decided to stay? A fresh start as clean as all this snow?

Impossible, her mind screamed. Haven couldn’t be gone. Varric swore he’d be waiting for her at the tavern with a drink. If it survived demons raining down on it, then what could wipe it cleanly off the face of Thedas?

_An avalanche._

“It’s okay.” Maria didn’t know if it was or not, but she could feel an involuntary tremor racing through Otsar in front of her. “Listen. The message said they were retreating. It’s _fine_. We’ll find their trail and follow it.”

But to _where_? Maria closed her eyes, tried to picture Haven as it had been. The road cutting up the valley, the sturdy wooden walls, pressed tight against the mountain top, the curling path that went to the remains of the Temple of Sacred Ashes nearly on the peak.

Any opposing army would have stood where her and Otsar now perched, they would have come into the valley just this way, so nobody would have been able to retreat back towards the Hinterlands. East or south was out of the question, north would have taken them to the top of the mountain…

“West.” Otsar murmured, coming to the same conclusion she had.

“Try and skirt this valley as much as we can.” Maria directed tersely. If any templars survived this, she didn’t want to meet them. “They’ll have left a trail, Otsar. We can pick it up.”

Fuck, even a city girl like Maria couldn’t miss the signs left by an entire town fleeing.

Otsar nodded stiffly in front of her and tightened his hold on the reins. The stolid horse plodded on and they descended into the valley.

* * *

They were almost to where Haven once stood when they found the templars.

Maria heard their gruff voices cutting through the darkness along with a bitter, ringing laugh that made her hair stand on end. Otsar slipped from the horse and Maria grabbed at his shoulder, shaking her head.

“We go around.” She whispered harshly, panic at being _alone_ on top of the beast momentarily forgotten. “We don’t fight unless we need to.”

“They may know where Athena-”

“They probably don’t.” Maria argued, fighting the urge to grab both his horns and shake his fool head. “Otsar, listen to me. If you get yourself killed, your sister won’t thank you for it.”

Still, he revolted and she tugged at his shoulder harder. “Get me off this damn horse and _I’ll_ scout it out, then. They may not see me, but they’re not gonna miss you.”

Advantages to being four feet tall, at least. She saw Otsar grudgingly realize she was correct. He silently reached up to lift her aching ass from the saddle and set her gently in the snow that was nearly up to his knees. She sank right up to said aching ass.

“Stay put.” Maria hissed, pulling her trusty bow from her back and stringing one green fletched arrow.

Otsar nodded and Maria staggered through the snow quietly, blending into the shadows of the ridges. As soon as she left him behind, her senses sharpened as if to compensate for striking out on her own.

She thought she could still catch the lingering scent of burning timber. The stench of spilled blood. And, in the back of her head, a high pitch whine starting to build. She shook herself to try and clear it, but it continued. Louder. _Sharper_.

Something wailing to be let into her mind.

That, of course, was foolish superstitious nonsense. She’d spent far too much time with humans if that was the kind of thing she was dreaming up. No magic was trying to penetrate her mind, nothing whispered around the edges in the darkness. She slipped into the darkest of the shadows as the voices grew louder, peering out.

The moonlight above did little to illuminate the scene, but it did _enough_. A knot of templars, perhaps just shy of a dozen, stumbled through the snow that turned blood red around them in an eerie, crimson light.

It took her a second to realize the templars themselves were casting it, that the snow around them sizzled and melted. She knew it at the same exact moment the scratching in her head clarified into a voice. One that sounded nearly like her sister, but so discordant, so malicious…

_So beautiful._

_Ria…_ the voice purred. _Look at them. Weak compared to you. All of them. All your life being looked down on, knowing you’re better than them. Smarter. Faster. But the world lauded them and here you are…_

Here she was. Dazed. Cowering in the snow, watching templars dig themselves out of the depths of hell.

 _Stone daughter…_ the voice sang as Maria watched another templar monster claw his way to the surface, a cruel parody of birth. _Look how strong they are now. Look at what they survived. I could make you that strong. I could make you unbreakable. They’d never take what you wanted from you again._

The defenders of Haven buried these monsters, but still they rose, just like _she_ could. Maria took a step back into the snow as a behemoth rose from beneath the ice with a mighty roar.

 _I can give you what you want_. The voice whispered softly, changing to a wam baritone that echoed with a dark, throaty chuckle. _Come on Princess, what are you waiting for?_

She could have everything she wanted, _be_ whatever she wanted, and nobody would ever stop her. She could…

She almost stepped out of the shadows, but something stopped her. The smallest something. If not for her rapt attention, she would have missed it entirely.

A red templar dug himself from the snow, still covered to the waist, but his gauntleted hands wrapped around a bolt stuck between the joints of his armor and ripped it free with the solid crack of wood splintering that woke her from her trance like ice water to the face.

She didn’t know it was his, she _couldn’t_ know it was one of his. It was too dark. They were too far away. He wasn’t the only person in Skyhold with a fucking crossbow.

But she knew anyway. She knew it in her bones.

Maria fled back through the path she’d made. Otsar waited, his eyes on the direction she’d vanished in, and the moment he saw how fast she streaked back towards him he raised the blade he held.

“Back on the horse.” She snapped, the whispers in her head quieting, gentling, but not fast enough for her taste.

They stood atop a graveyard of red lyrium, of red templars, and they were rising from not quite death to drag them down too.

Before Otsar could obey or argue, and honestly she didn’t know which was more likely, a figure stumbled from the opposite direction. A templar missing his helm, revealing a face scarred and burned beyond recognition as even a face. But the red lyrium forced him onwards anyway, more a puppet than a man.

Maria raised her bow in spite of her horror and sent an arrow through his eye cooly before he could close in on them.

“What the fuck…” Otsar’s barely contained horror was evident, but he didn’t drop his blade. He didn’t back away.

_He’ll betray you. They all will._

Maria nearly dropped her own bow, the sick voice coming like a punch in the gut. It sounded like her grandmother now and she couldn’t, she couldn’t…

She barely recognized the shadow coming from her right, but Otsar was there to keep the blade from cleaving down on her red hair. He parried the blow easily, his strength overpowering the injured templar without issue. The monster reeled back and Otsar thrust his blade in between his plate mail. The man screamed and Otsar pulled his blade free, wheeling to her.

“Can you hear it?” She asked hysterically, fear in her throat. “Can you hear them?”

“Hear _what_?” He demanded, but then thought better of waiting for an answer. “Come on.”

He tried to tug her forward and she stumbled after him, immediately trying to pull away. It was calling to her, calling her home, she needed…

Otsar swore and in a second, Maria found herself dangling in the air as he swept her from the ground with one arm. The horse whinnied nervously and Maria tried to twist away, but Otsar was fast for someone so massive. Before she could even think to _make_ him drop her, she was on the horse and he was sliding on behind her, catching her with one arm and the reins with the other. He snapped them and the horse reared back.

Maria barely caught her shriek from slipping out past her clenched teeth as the horse plunged full speed into the snow.

Otsar drove the horse onwards with single minded desperation, thinking only of leaving the nightmare behind them in the darkness. But Maria knew they were safe when the sound stopped clawing on the outside of her ears, knew they were beyond the reach of the monsters when all she felt was slimy, greasy nausea curling in her stomach.

“Slow down.” She mumbled, wiping her clammy forehead.

“Oh, you’re back to giving orders instead of acting crazy?” Otsar asked, the harsh humor only barely hiding the undercurrent of fear beyond it.

She didn’t have time to reassure him. “If you don’t stop, I’m going to hurl. On you.”

That did the trick. Otsar snapped the reins back immediately and the horse slammed to a sudden stop. She didn’t wait for him to dismount and help her, instead she slipped off the side herself ungracefully, falling into the thank-the-Ancestors soft snow. She staggered several paces away before she spat the bile rising in her throat into the snow, listening to the soft thud of Otsar dismounting.

“What the fuck happened?” He asked. “You _froze_.”

And she never froze. _Never_.

“You couldn’t hear it?” She asked over her shoulder. “You _really_ couldn’t?”

“Just… just a sound. Like someone shrieking in my eardrums.” Otsar’s face was wreathed in shadows. “What did you hear?”

Evil. Corruption. The darkest parts of her soul. But she couldn’t confess that, not to a kid.

“Voices.” She stated instead. “It was the lyrium, they were infected with the red shit and _he_ said…”

Varric said it affected dwarves worse than humans. He warned her not to go up to the temple. Warned her to stay away from it.

“Who said?” Otsar asked. Maria reached for a clump of cold, clean snow and pressed it to her overheated forehead, letting the cool water melt down her cheeks.

“A friend.” She whispered instead, shivering. “I’m sorry you had to handle that. Are you okay, salroka?”

The word slipped from her mouth before she even fully considered it and she froze, stunned.

Salroka. _Friend_. One who stood beside you.

“Salroka?” Otsar echoed. “Hopefully that means handsome qunari who saved your ass, shortcake. But I’m fine. It’s fine.”

It wasn’t. But it would be. “C’mon then. We’ve gotta find the trail. Whole town fleeing, it can't be that hard to locate.”

* * *

The sun was dawning before they found a trail. When they did, Maria almost wished they hadn’t. It was Otsar, of course, who spotted it. They’d decided to walk for a bit, to give the horse some rest, and Maria was relegated to following in the footsteps of both tall Qunari and broad horse or she’d have been left somewhere in the dust.

She shivered, drawn and tired from the red lyrium, cold down to her bones. If she found them, if she found any of them, she’d give all of Haven a piece of her damn mind. _Especially_ Varric Tethras.

But Otsar’s soft, pained exclamation dragged her from ruminating. She watched as he dropped the horses reins and stumbled to another path in the snow, one clearly cleaving to the west. Maria almost shouted to warn him that just because it was a trail did not mean it belonged to friends, that he couldn’t rush, that he needed-

Then he fell to his knees and Maria bolted towards him, instantly alarmed, adrenaline spiking in her veins again. “Otsar? Otsar what…”

She placed one hand on his shoulder and peered over his form, only slightly shorter than hers now. He held something charred and black in his hands, dinged and dented, but even she could see the shine of metal under the grime and…

Blood. It had to be blood.

She could also see the symbol on it. She knew that symbol. She _knew_ the piece of armor Otsar cradled in his hands like a bleeding heart. The Valo-Kas heraldry, the one all the remaining members of Athena’s crew wore proudly embossed in their leather armor and embroidered on scarves… the one emblazoned on Athena’s shoulder guards.

One of which Otsar was holding.

“Athena…” He whispered, voice breaking. “Athena, she was here, she…”

She’d been injured. Badly, judging by the splattered trail of blood, droplets dotting the snow around them. But she’d carried on, of course she carried on, Athena climbed a fucking _mountain_ covered in demons the first time to save their asses.

She did it, even thinking she’d lost her brother to the mayhem, even knowing that she was dying, she…

She kept going. And now Maria had the brother their Herald so desperately wanted to see again in her care. His fingers trembled, wrapped around the armor, and brought it to his forehead with his clasped hands like he was praying.

Maria had never prayed. She didn’t know _how_. She didn’t even know if anyone listened to the prayers of surface dwarves with shady pasts and tragic backstories. All she knew was she hadn’t been prepared for the sight of this kid, this fearless and reckless _kid_ , bowed low with grief and worry.

“We’ll follow the trail.” She curled her fingers into his own shoulder. “We’ll find her.”

No matter what, they’d find her. Even if it was too late for Athena to know her brother was safe… well, Maria could give Otsar a chance to say goodbye. She could do that, at least.

She tried to pull him up, a farce if she ever saw one, but he stood at her prompting. He began to stumble down the trail, the path that marked a desperate march onward. Blood shined in dark patches as the sun rose above them, casting the world in a halo of golden and pink dawn.

It was almost beautiful.

The path merged with another, even Maria could see the trail ended where another began. A wider push through the snow made by a group, not an individual. It climbed up a sheer hill before dipping into a tiny valley. When they crested the top, they stared down at the remains of a great camp. They could see the charred remains of campfires, even in the distance. Whatever had happened, Athena had found the bulk of the refugees from Haven. Which meant she could be alive.

They all could still be alive.

They stumbled down into the valley like ghosts through the abandoned camp. Otsar’s fingers hovered hopefully over the remains of the first fire, but only for a moment before they fell to his side, disappointed. It was cold, not a fresh trace. They were on the tracks of the survivors, but so far behind it could be another day or two before they found them.

Stiffly, Otsar turned back to the horse.

“Wait.” Maria pleaded. She didn’t want to say it. _She_ wanted to go too. If she was alone, she may have. “You need to rest. We’ve been on the road almost nonstop. The horse needs to rest. An hour, maybe two.”

Otsar was already shaking his head, gritting his teeth together stubbornly. This was as good a place to rest as any, far beyond the call of the red lyrium, sheltered from the wind, and she could gather up the half burnt wood and make themselves a tiny fire. Just enough for a moment.

“Hot shot, you’re no good to her dead.” Maria pointed out. “An hour. Just so the horse doesn’t keel over on us.”

He knew she was right. She knew she was right. They both _hated_ she was right. She could see it in the tension he carried in his jaw. “Otsar I swear, I’m trying to get to them just as-”

“To who?” Otsar demanded, furious. “You don’t know what this is like. Your sister isn’t there. She isn’t hurt. Who are _you_ in such a hurry to find?”

Bea wasn’t there, he was right. Maria’s family was tucked safely away in Ostwick, but she had a million other answers.

Bull, his booming laugh shaking the beams of the tavern as he winked and asked if she was feeling up to a challenge. Athena’s quiet, steady confidence and drive to do the right thing. The cranky alchemist, the pretty little barmaid who always smiled so sweetly.

But the only answer that came to the tip of her tongue silenced her. A name she couldn’t dare say, because if she said it…

If she admitted it, she was sending him _and_ her off the knife’s edge into disaster.

“I have friends there who thought I was more than Carta.” It wasn’t the whole truth, but it wasn’t a lie. “I’d very much like to see them again.”

Otsar swore in that musical language she didn’t understand before he relented. “An hour, shortcake. One more damn hour.”


	4. Breaking a Bed*

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Otsar finally reunites with his sister. 
> 
> Maria and Varric break a bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW bits start at "Maria paused..." 
> 
> Enjoy!

Every few hours, Maria forced a rest even as Otsar chafed against it. Not for herself. She, after all, wasn’t the one who had to control the damn beast carrying them up the mountain. Although, in truth, even the poor creature wormed its way into her heart when it shoved it’s warm muzzle against her ear.

But the endlessness of it took a toll, one she couldn’t resist. There was nothing but the path stretching clear as day in front of them, the snow, trees and a sky that slowly darkened again before erupting into stars.

Still, they kept going. Through the night. Through the dawn.

When Otsar hefted her onto the mare, she was barely in any shape to refuse his soothing baritone saying that she could close her eyes for a moment, he’d lead them on. He sat tall and solid behind her, his hands holding the creature’s reins, and Maria twisted herself into a knot trying to fight the cold gnawing on her bones, leaning back against him.

Maybe she slept, but if she did, it was a twilight thing. The way she always slept on ships without really sleeping at all.

In fact, all he needed to do was whisper her name into the heavy silence for her to be awake, eyes focusing into the distance, alert and tense.

She stared at a castle, complete with towers streaming up to meet the sky. Smoke drifted lazily up into the late afternoon sun and people walked the battlements in groups. Otsar’s arms shook with relief and excitement. Maria almost choked on a hysterical laugh.

They made it. They _fucking_ made it.

“Hold on.” Otsar ordered.

She didn’t have time to process that command or voice her opposition. She barely had time to scramble at the saddle before they were racing down the mountain at a gallop. Maria felt like she was in free fall, one hand reaching up to clutch her hooded cloak tighter against the icy wind whipping against her face. The sound of hooves pounding against snow and ice gave way to the clapping sound of them against paving stones.

Otsar drew them up just outside the gates as two people stared at them, mouths agape.

“Bleeding hell, Cadash.” One of the humans caught sight of her red hair falling from within her hood past her chin and visibly startled. “Is that really you?”

Otsar was already swinging off the horse, but to his credit he didn’t forget to turn back and lift her as smoothly as if she weighed nothing.

“This is Athena’s brother.” Maria introduced weakly, legs wobbly and unsure on the stone bridge beneath her feet. “Otsar Adaar. We were in a hurry to let Athena know he was safe.”

“Where is she? Is she alright?” Otsar demanded rapid fire.

“She’s fine, the Inqui-” Otsar didn’t even stay to listen to the full answer to his question. He dashed through the gates, leaving their horse in the scout’s hands. Maria patted it’s flank almost affectionately as she pushed past the humans into the courtyard.

 _People_. There were so many _people_ , and she recognized many of them. Jim the scout scurried along the battlements. Cullen barked orders nearby. Adan rushed past scowling, arms full of potion bottles. She swore she heard Sera’s cackle.

But not what she was looking for. Not what she-

She was pulled from her scanning by Otsar’s laugh cutting through the air. He was rubbing his jaw, his eyes gleaming with emotion, pointed up above them in the castle proper. She followed his gaze just in time to see a horned woman stumble towards the steps leading down to them.

Athena Adaar was injured. Even days later, Maria could see it had been bad. She still limped, just a little, still nursed cuts and bruises in various states of healing. She even cradled her side with one hand when she walked, like she was being careful of healing ribs.

But nobody could mistake the radiant joy on her features, the tears barely contained as she flung herself the rest of the way down the stone steps. Otsar didn’t wait, he broke forward with all the excitement of a child finally coming home, catching Athena before her feet even left the last step and enveloping her in an embrace that was at once fierce and gentle.

She thought she heard more of that strange language, saw Otsar’s jaw tremble as he pressed his face into Athena’s shoulder. Her long, slender fingers stroked a comforting path through his hair as she pressed a searing kiss on his cheek.

The dwarf beside Athena looked shell-shocked and delighted. She too was nursing injuries, a nasty burn on her arm, a bandage slapped on her shoulder. But Vlita looked like she had just won every hand of Wicked Grace she ever played. As Maria watched, she turned her eyes from Otsar and Athena to stare in wonder towards the gates.

More cheers were erupting. The remaining Valo-Kas, Maria assumed, must have been nearby. She could hear them thundering closer, but nobody had noticed her. Nobody except Vlita, whose bluebell colored eyes latched onto her still form framed in the gates.

Maria pushed her hood back, revealing crimson hair and her face to the afternoon sun, summoning a trembling smile for Vlita as the woman approached. Vlita kept looking back, still staring in disbelief at Athena and Otsar embracing, even as another Qunari enveloped both their forms in an embrace. While they observed, an elf threw himself onto Otsar’s back.

“You found him?” Vlita asked. “Your team found him? Where is everyone else, where is-”

“Where’s Varric?” It was the only question she needed answered, and somehow she thought Vlita may be the only person in the world who wouldn’t use this against her somehow. “Is he…?”

“Bit bruised up, like the rest of us, but the chest hair is still intact.” Vlita’s lips curved into a wicked, knowing smile. But Maria didn’t care. She _didn’t_ care.

Varric was alive. Varric was here. _She wasn’t too late._

“That’s the most important thing.” Maria joked, but the relief had already relaxed her posture. She watched as the Valo-Kas began to tug and pull both Otsar and Athena away. “What happened?”

“Red templars. Avalanche. Dragon. Darkspawn magister, _apparently_. Another avalanche.” Vlita waved it all away. “I can’t believe you found him and brought him back. They’re going to give you a damn medal.”

Maria huffed, fighting the bitterness in the back of her throat. “They’re going to fire me. I disobeyed Tailor, helped the kid knock out what’s-his-name, stole a horse…”

“You brought Athena’s brother back.” Vlita pointed out. “Everything is forgiven, trust me. Athena won’t _let_ them fire you and _she’s_ in charge now.”

Vlita seemed so pleased by that statement that it made Maria smile. “Well, before I have to deal with that I’ve got something to do. Where is our favorite deshyr?”

Vlita jerked her thumb over her shoulder. “Up the steps into the main courtyard helping Bull and that weird kid clean up debris. You can’t miss him.”

“Could anyone in that shirt?” She asked with a choked laugh, weaving around Vlita. Before she quite could, the other woman grabbed her arm.

“You… this was a good thing, Cadash You did a really good thing. Athena and Varric weren’t wrong about you. You’re a good person.”

She stared, stunned, into the openness of the other woman’s face. She tried not to blush under the scrutiny and shrugged instead. “I don’t know about that. But I’d very much like to go do some very bad things. So if you’ll excuse me, V…”

Vlita dropped her arm with a barking laugh and a wink. “Go on then.” She insisted. “See he rewards you properly for this act of heroism.”

* * *

Varric should have refused to get off the boat. He should have kicked and screamed when Cassandra dragged him up to Haven. Should have…

Should have never taken Hawke to find those crazy Carta members. Should have never gone into the deep roads. Should have never helped bring the red lyrium to the surface.

But he had, and now he had to make it right. _Whatever the cost_.

He straightened from the pile of rubble he was helping Bull and the Chargers clear out of the damn courtyard and tried to locate Cole, who had vanished. _Again_. The late afternoon sun was almost warm, which would have been a blessing, except he was actually sweating from the exertion.

Sweating. In the middle of winter. In the middle of the fucking mountains.

He should have stayed on the boat.

He’d already discarded his favorite leather jacket, already rolled up his shirt sleeves as far as they would go. Still, he mopped his forehead with his arm and sighed wearily, shooting a disgruntled look at the Qunari slinging a piece of timber as tall as himself over his shoulder. “Tired, Varric?” Bull asked casually.

Of many, many things. Decrepit castles. Dragons that may be archdemons. Marches through the snow. Red lyrium. Watching Athena barely not die.

“Just thinking of how I’m gonna describe your brute strength when I eventually write this down.” Varric offered.

“You know, it’s not surprising you’re out of shape. Standing in the back ranks, pulling your girlfriend’s trigger just isn’t the same as being in the thick of it.”

Bull’s wicked, taunting grin made him laugh. “Ouch.”

“Too much?”

“No. That was good.” Varric chuckled. “Gonna need to work that into my next book somehow.”

“Alright, but it was my line and I want credit.” Bull smirked, sliding his eyes over the courtyard, observing every corner, sweeping behind Varric’s back.

A spy’s move. Always watching. Always waiting.

Then he cracked an even more massive grin, shaking his giant horned head. “I know when I’m beaten, Varric. I’m throwing in the towel.”

For fuck’s sake. Varric looked around at the half finished job of moving the debris and glared at the Qunari. “You leave me to finish this, Tiny, I’m gonna show you what Bianca gets up to when she’s mad.”

“She thought she’d be too late, _again_. Another person waiting and she never makes it.” Cole murmured. Varric would love to know how the kid seemed to slip through the shadows, silent and deadly, preferably before he gave him a heart attack. “But she’s here and the knots are loosened. You can undo the rest.”

Varric shook his head and smiled at the gangly boy. “Context, kid. You’re forgetting that some of us need context.”

“I don’t.” Bull’s grinned widened. “That’s a woman with one thing on her mind, and it isn’t curiosity about qunari anatomy.”

Varric watched as Bull flexed his muscles and threw a cheerful wave into the air to someone standing behind him. Varric turned to spot the distraction that had both Tiny and the Kid making no sense.

As soon as he saw her, a whole lot of Varric’s thoughts stopped making sense too.

Maria Cadash stood, in all of her petite glory, at the top of the steps leading from the lower level. The wind blew loose wisps of her fiery hair past her pale cheeks, the freckles standing out starkly in contrast over her nose. Her silver eyes sat above deep bruising shadows marking exhaustion.

Then she smiled in his direction. It was a cautious tip of her lips to just one side, the smile she always saved for him alone, like she wasn’t sure exactly what to make of him but she liked it anyway. Varric immediately felt caught out, that somehow his hopeless daydreams of her had summoned her wraith to haunt him.

She’d been on his mind damn near constantly since Haven was attacked, and in truth some time before that.

He wouldn’t say it had started out innocent, because it certainly had _never_ been innocent. Nobody with blood in their veins could watch her swagger past without wondering what that curvy figure would look like sprawled on top of silk sheets, color rising beneath those freckles.

But it had been uncomplicated, at least until the second he watched her leave to dive into the Hinterlands and found himself wistfully wishing she’d look back over her shoulder and smile again, just for him.

Then she had.

Like she felt his eyes on her, she’d turned from the door with a cheerful wink that caused blood to pool in embarrassing places and a smile that softened around the corners for him and him _alone_.

That had been when he realized he was in trouble. He’d barely had a few days to ruminate about how much trouble he was _actually_ in before his past dragged a dragon in to ruin his day.

And yet, during the whole battle, he kept being silently grateful, at least, that Maria Cadash was kicking her heels in the great wilderness of the Hinterlands. Safe, bored, chaffing under Tailor and teaching Ritts how to cheat at cards.

And now she was here. She _couldn’t_ be here, because that was impossible, but…

His body moved without his permission, without thought. He filed away Bull’s knowing chuckle, but he’d deal with it later.

He suddenly had a more urgent priority.

“Princess, do I even want to know how you found us?” He shouldn’t touch her. He _shouldn’t,_ but he couldn’t resist. His rough fingers touched her cheek, slid along the delicate bone there to tuck her stray strands of hair securely behind her ear. She was cold as stone, probably frozen to the damn bone, but she was soft as silk against his scarred fingertips.

She closed her eyes, lashes resting on the curve of her cheek like wings while he swept a concerned gaze over the rest of her, his palm resting against her cheek like he could warm her with that touch alone.

She leaned into him, just slightly, and that was enough for a part of Varric to rebel, to remind him that he could look, but he could _absolutely_ not touch. She was Carta, even if she was doing a shitty job at upholding all the terrible stereotypes of being Carta. Her grandmother wouldn’t even _bother_ hiring assassins, she’d off him herself, which… really wasn’t as frightening as the thought of the Guild sniffing around Maria with their pointed teeth and greedy, graspy hands.

He’d lost one woman to them and their games. He couldn’t lose another. Maria Cadash was safe, but only if he snatched his hand away, only if he reminded himself-

Like she sensed the turbulent turn of his thoughts and determined to counteract him, she caught the back of his bare hand with her gloved one, captured it against her cheek with a little hum before she opened her eyes again. They were half-lidded, come hither eyes in spite of everything. It was just her endless flirting, but he couldn’t stand against it today. Not after everything that had happened.

“Well.” She began softly. “I rescued our Herald’s brother. _Then_ I let him drag me up a damn mountain following your asses. I’ve been on a horse so long I can’t feel my ass and I’m _freezing_.”

His traitorous thumb refused to listen to the screaming in the back of his mind. It rubbed a small circle over Maria’s cheek while he stared into her stunning eyes, incredulous. “They got you onto a horse?”

She laughed, a breathless, joyful, _reckless_ sound that went straight to his center like a shot of whiskey. It made his lips curl, made a stray thought spark to life somewhere in his mind, one that caused his heart to thud unevenly.

He could _easily_ spend the rest of his life listening to that laugh.

“I’m as shocked as you are, honestly.” Maria admitted with a sly grin, lightly slapping his shoulder with her other hand. “A sodding horse, Varric. It’s three times as tall as I am, and I _stole_ it. Just to get up here and make sure you didn’t die owing me all that money.”

There was that painful, pleasant thud in his chest again. “You rode a horse the whole way up a mountain to make sure _I_ didn’t meet my Maker?”

“I like to keep an eye on my investments.” She declared breezily. It would have been more convincing if a sharp wind didn’t choose that moment to cut through the courtyard, causing her to hunch forwards, curling into his chest, not quite close enough to touch, but so close she may as well as.

He could look. He could look and he could never, _ever_ touch. That was the rule, a careful boundary between the two of them, if it blurred…

But he was already touching her, and it was too easy to free his hand from her face and slip it around her slender shoulders instead. So easy, he couldn’t even bear to examine it. “C’mon Princess. You’re not going to believe this, but I’ve got a room with something that can be loosely described as a bed and a fireplace. I’ll donate it to the cause of warming your fine ass up.”

Maria’s wicked grin ignited another spark in him as she fell into step beside him. “I certainly hope so.”

* * *

Maria paused inside the threshold of his room, taking it in skeptically before turning her amused eyes back to him. “You really know how to take a girl somewhere nice.”

“I’ll have you know these are some of the nicest accommodations in Skyhold right now. Primarily because it has a working fireplace. The rest is… rustic charm.” Varric waved towards the cobwebs up in the corner, the sagging bed, the mess of hay that he felt sure, at one point in time, probably hosted a litter of nugs. But the fireplace was crackling away merrily and he steered Maria towards it with one hand on the small of her back.

“It’ll do.” Maria declared, raising her deft fingers to the cloak tied around her neck. She slipped it off her shoulders and allowed it to fall to the floor, stirring up a gentle puff of dust. The next thing to go were her gloves, tossed haphazardly over her shoulders as she reached out towards the warm firelight.

Andraste herself couldn’t have looked so beautiful in the flames, there was _nothing_ compared to Maria’s skin painted in pinks and oranges. She stretched her fingers and luxuriated in the warmth for a moment before she smoothly began unbuttoning her jacket.

This was his cue to leave, to let her rest, but she glowed just like the sun. Maybe he was a greedy man, one who coveted shiny things that didn’t belong to him.

Just as bad as all the men he looked down on.

One look. Simply to make sure she wasn’t stubbornly hiding a wound beneath her coat.

“You’re staring.” She accused, a laugh curling under her voice. “So either I look amazing or I look awful. Which is it?”

“It’s unfair, honestly, to all the other women here that you can look so good after tromping through the mountains for days.” She smiled into the flames at that, pleased as she undid the last buttons of the jacket.

And for a moment, as soon as that offending piece of clothing slipped from her shoulders, Varric lost track of his own words. Either he’d forgotten just how sinful she looked in those snug breeches and knee high boots, a leather bodice cinching her waist in tight and accentuating the roundness of her generous chest and perfect ass, or her power to attract was that much more potent in this small, intimate space.

“And you look tired.” Varric could barely feel his own tongue in his mouth, but somehow it kept moving. “Let me-”

“Did you miss me?” She lifted her eyes from the fire, the golden light dancing in them as she abandoned her discarded clothes to join him in front of the door he planned on chivalrously retreating through.

Hard to be gentlemanly when the woman in question was twining her arms around his neck, pressing her ample bosom against his chest, fitting her hips snugly up against his, stirring something dark and intense inside him.

He couldn’t. He _shouldn’t_.

But his hands went to the dip of her waist anyway, tracing the supple leather straining against her curves.

He told himself he meant to hold her at a distance. His hands cheerfully decided to act of their own accord, holding her flush against him as she stared into his eyes with that wicked grin lighting up her face with delicious joy.

“I didn’t miss losing every hand of Wicked Grace, but you certainly liven up affairs.” As he spoke, her eyes drifted from his down to his lips, and he knew what she was going to do a second before she did.

“Maria…”

He couldn’t tell if her name was a plea to stop or a call to just _do_ it. Regardless, her fingers tangled in the loose strands of his hair and she forced his neck down just as she tipped her chin up, crashing their lips together in a kiss that tasted even better than he’d imagined it would, late at night, conjuring her cocky smile and the tempting swell of pale skin exposed by her shirt while he spilled in his hand.

She tasted like honey and cinnamon, cloves and apples. She tasted like the crispness of fall and the sweetness of summer. He couldn’t get enough of it, answering her kiss with a demanding press of his own, fingers digging into her waist.

_At the very worst part of Haven, when the dragon appeared, he feared he’d never see her again._

He couldn’t. He _couldn’t_ do this. There was too much at stake, too much to lose, if they lost. If he lost _her_ …

Varric pulled away, dizzy with desire slicking his veins. “Maria, we can’t. Line in the sand. Crossing this is a very bad-”

She just laughed again, the sound making him weak, allowing her to shove him back against the door, cornering him in his own room.

“You want me.” She murmured, tipping her chin up again, a dare if he ever saw it. “Take me, I’m yours.”

_Yours._

When was the last time someone _belonged_ just to him? When was the last time he didn’t have to share?

Her mouth captured his again ruthlessly, reminding him that he wouldn’t get the upper hand here unless he worked for it. Of course, he could let her. It would be so fucking easy to just _let_ her carry him away in this inferno of passion, to wallow in the lie that _she_ was safe, that _he_ was.

It was just the Carta and the Guild. How bad could the fall out _really_ be? The risk was worth it for her delighted little gasp when he returned her bruising kiss, when his arms wrapped the whole way around her waist and lifted her almost off her feet.

But it wasn’t just the Carta, it wasn't just the Guild, and Varric _knew_ it. He had secrets, he couldn’t risk her getting caught up in the eventual explosion.

He used his strength to spin them, to pin her against the door instead. The delighted little hum of surprise she made went straight to his swelling cock, but he tried to ignore it as he caged her back against the wood and pulled away from her tempting, kiss swollen lips.

“We can’t.” Varric pleaded. “Maria I’m not... there are things that I lied about. And those things are coming back to bite me in the ass sooner rather than later. I can’t- this isn’t a good time to get involved with me.”

That caused her to stop, to pull back and look levely into his eyes, smile dropping. But she didn’t remove her arms from his neck, didn’t flinch away from him. Her eyes were as endless as the gray sky stretching above Skyhold.

“I thought you didn’t get involved, Varric?” She asked softly.

He swallowed. “Yeah, well, I just admitted that I lie. Frequently, in fact.”

Her fingertips pressed against the nape of his neck and he barely restrained himself from pushing back against them like a cat. She continued to stare at him, their breathing calming, the rhythm of their hearts pounding back into somewhat normal order. He took the time to trace the freckles splattered across her face, to take in her flushed skin underneath.

Whole and here, right where he wanted her. Right where she _belonged_. Somehow, in some crazy way, this felt _right_. More right than anything Varric had done in a damn long time.

“I think.” Maria said softly, biting her deliciously plump, pink lip. “It’s a bit late for _not_ getting involved.”

He’d never heard anything more true in his life. In this one precarious moment, balanced on the knife’s edge of two wildly different futures, he realized _involved_ was just one way to describe it. He’d been hopelessly smitten since that first arrow flew over his head, and this could ruin them or…

_Or…_

“Varric.” Maria arched against his chest, pushing her glorious curves into his greedy hands with a small, victorious smile curling her lips like she’d already won. “I’m cold, and if you don’t warm me up soon, I’ll find someone else.”

She was triumphant and he was outplayed once again. He realized he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Varric silenced her with another desperate kiss, one that kindled the sparks flying between them into a raging inferno too intense to ignore. His large hands slid up her waist until they found the laces holding the damn bodice together. He tugged the knots loose with his deft, lockpicking hands and she made a pleased little sound in his mouth as the leather fell away.

He clutched greedily at the thin, cold cotton tucked into her breeches and tugged until it pulled free, until he could slide one rough palm up her back, tracing the curve of her spine, her silken skin under his fingers begging to be touched, to be marked, to be made to sing with pleasure…

 _Cold_. Cold to the touch but _here,_ with _him,_ and he’d go to the void himself before he gave anyone else the opportunity to warm her bed.

With that thought, he lifted her easily around the waist. She broke off their kiss with a startled laugh, one that made him press her back against the door despite his plans, filled with desperate need to capture that sound with his lips. She scrambled to lock her legs tight around his waist, tugging the leather tie from his hair until it fell to his chin and she could push it back with her slender, bowstring calloused fingers.

He finally summoned up the will to peel her away from the door and blindly stumbled over to his lackluster bed. As soon as his knees hit the frame, he dropped Maria onto the thin mattress as gently as he could. The second her lips left his, his hands snatched the thin cotton from her torso and pulled it impatiently over her head.

The sight of her without it left him stunned. She smiled cheekily up at him, arching her back to thrust those tempting breasts, still constrained in a bustier that showed them off to their fullest potential, rising and falling with her rapid breathing. The freckles that charmed him so much their first meeting also dotted her shoulders.

“Has anyone told you that you’re a paragon of beauty?” Varric asked, letting his eyes roam as Maria bent her knees to impatiently tug off her boots. Her crimson hair fell in front of her eyes and she laughed again, the sound breathless and throaty.

“Is this that famous poetry I’ve heard so much about?” She asked. “The words you promised would get me right out of my breeches if you wanted?”

“I hate to break it to you, Princess.” The banter was _perfect_. Easy. It shouldn’t be this easy to fall into bed with her _and_ keep teasing her. The fact that it was… _dangerous_. This was dangerous. This was _involved._ “But you are taking your clothes off.”

“Not my breeches.” She declared pertly, tossing the boots past him with a sly grin. “That’s all you, Varric. But first…”

Her quick, clever fingers grabbed the sash of his tunic and had it undone in a heartbeat. Her own hands slid, finally warmer, tantalizingly slowly up his abdomen. She pushed the red silk up, balling it in her hands, revealing his skin inch by inch. The first kiss she dropped on his ribs surprised him, right over the scar he carried from the Gallows. Then another placed on a different scar, one whose origin he couldn’t recall.

He joined her in removing the garment and tossing it carelessly over her cloak. She almost purred, her fingers combing through the hair on his chest, nails digging into the muscles of his shoulders as she examined him hungrily.

“Have you ever considered ditching the shirt all together and making all us ladies very happy?” Maria asked seriously.

“You’d never get anything done.” He said smoothly, quickly capturing her hands as they brushed over sensitive nipples. He couldn’t have her bolting off too quickly. He needed this to last, needed to cherish every moment of her in this awful bed, because Maker knew what would happen next.

Like she read his thoughts, she lunged to capture his lips again, quick as a snake. “You’re thinking too much.” She murmured, moving her lips from his and down his stubbled jaw, over his neck.

“Writer’s curse.” He offered. “I’ve been thinking about this so long, I don’t know how I want you first.”

“Hard.” Maria breathed against his skin, sending gooseflesh rippling down his skin. “Fast. I’ve wanted you for so long, I don’t want to wait anymore. We’ll save the creative stuff for round two. And three. Then we have tomorrow…”

Rounds two and three. _Tomorrow_. They had time. There wasn’t a clock ticking above their heads. As long as no one knew… as long as they kept mum from the Guild and the Carta, they had as much time as they wanted.

She wasn’t going to run off.

“Varric, please.” Her nails scratched down his chest and she thrashed against his hold on her wrists. “ _Please_.”

Maria’s pleas snapped the remaining threads of self control. He crowded her until she leaned back on the bed, climbing over her form in between more of those desperate, fiery kisses. The little minx beneath him rolled her hips against his, the friction nearly making him cross-eyed with pure, blinding need.

“You’re playing with fire, Princess.” Varric warned in a low, soft voice. The damn bustier’s lace melted away under his urgent tugging and he tossed the contraption to the side, groaning while he filled his hands with the creamy breasts that had tormented his thoughts.

“Good, I…” Maria’s retort tapered out into a moan, her head falling back as Varric gently pinched her nipples, watched the shudder of pleasure rip through her. He soothed them with a soft touch before lowering his teeth to nip gently.

She was a sensitive thing, already helplessly squirming beneath him as he teased her through the sensation, switching between those breasts as she scrambled to clutch his shoulders. Her nails left harsh red lines in their wake, but he didn’t mind. Each little helpless whimper was worth it, each gasp, each moan.

He let his free hand slip beneath her breeches, past her smalls, intent on teasing her clit until she was ready to take him. What he found made him pause, grinning in rapt fascination as he let go of one of Maria’s nipples. His fingers gathered her slick, circled her clit as he crooned to her flushed form. “You’re wet, sweetheart. _Soaked_.”

His ego probably didn’t need the additional stroking, but she was so excited there was no reason to stop himself from peeling her remaining clothes off, leaving her gloriously bare, pale and flushed prettily pink. He took a second to divest himself of his own breeches, smalls, and boots. She propped herself up on her elbows to watch, half-lidded gaze hungry.

Smirking, he palmed his length, stroking it once just to watch her bite her lip. “Like what you see?” He asked.

“I’ll need to try it before I give an informed opinion.” She spread her thighs with a wicked grin, arching her brow in a clear come hither.

Varric wasn’t one to resist the temptation, _clearly_.

She yielded to him perfectly, soft curves filling his hands as they met for another bruising, passionate kiss. She nipped his lip playfully as he withdrew and he growled, sucking a bruise onto her neck in revenge. The movement made his cock brush against her slick center and they both moaned in united need.

She scrambled to clutch at the sorry excuse for a headboard while he spread her thighs wide, staring down at her as his thick cock brushed the lips of her sex. This was it. The point of no return.

“Varric…” She moaned desperately.

His name. _His_ name in her mouth, and he wanted to hear it again. Over and over.

Without another thought, without a moment to consider the final implications, he thrust home into her welcoming cunt.

He saw stars, her tight, wet heat engulfing him as she stretched around his girth. He looked down, watching as inch by inch, he sank into her like she’d been made to take his cock, perfect and beautiful. The sight of him bottoming out, cock fully sheathed inside her, was enough to cause tingles of pleasure to race up and down his spine.

He waited, watching her eyes flutter closed, fingers white knuckle gripping the flimsy headboard. Waited until she opened them again, saw how they’d blown dark with lust and need.

“Varric Tethras.” She snarled. “I am not made of glass and if you don’t _fuck_ me properly, I swear…”

That was all he needed. He withdrew slowly, listening with amused lust to her tirade, before he slammed quickly back inside her. She gasped, the gasp turning into a trilling moan. Varric repeated the process, watching her tits bounce as he set an almost brutal pace, driven to the brink by need, frantic with desire. She urged him out, breathing his name in his ear, whimpering how good he felt, how she’d been waiting, how much she wanted…

The cracking of the bed frame was almost lost in the roaring of blood in his ears, but even he couldn’t miss the lurch of the bed. He slowed for only a second before Maria’s teeth dug into the meat of his shoulder.

Liquid heat pooled in his spine and she came undone beneath him, crying out her ecstasy to the ceiling as he fucked her through her orgasm. He made to withdraw and her legs locked around him, holding him tight.

“Please, please.” She begged. “Please come inside me, I want to…”

Those words were enough to send him over the edge and he roared his satisfaction, thrusts becoming uneven as she milked him of his seed, her muscles clenching around his cock as he spilled inside her. He collapsed on the sagging bed, the angle all wrong as half of it dipped precariously.

She threw her arm over her eyes, probably to blot out the same colorful explosions he was still seeing. Her skin was finally warm to the touch as he threw his arm heavily over her abdomen and watched her in silent wonder.

“We broke your bed.” She finally laughed, lowering her arm to grin at him. “Varric, I’ve _never_ broken a bed before.”

Varric couldn’t remember why they’d waited so long to do this. He reached a gentle hand to brush her hair from her eyes and kissed her forehead. “I needed a sturdier one. _Clearly_.”

“Clearly.” She echoed, curling into his embrace, eyes fluttering closed. “Missed you.”

The simple truth in the statement lanced through him and he dropped his lips to her forehead again, sparing a rueful glance at the crossbow leaning darkly in the corner. “Missed you too, Princess.”


	5. A New Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Athena welcomes her brother to their new home and recruits an agent for the Inquisition. 
> 
> Maria makes a choice.

When Athena saw him again, time stopped.

All the bustle of Skyhold froze. The whole world could have vanished, because for a second, the only person Athena had eyes for was the young man striding purposefully through the gates. Her gaze zeroed in on the smallest of the familiar details, the straight posture, the curve of his horns, the cheerful free-footed swagger…

He’d begun to walk like their father had. Athena wondered why she hadn’t noticed until now.

From her elbow, she heard V’s sharp intake of breath followed by a breathless curse. “Andraste’s _tits_.”

V saw him too, which meant this wasn’t a trick of the fade, wasn’t her injured mind conjuring hallucinations. Otsar was _here_ , Otsar had come back to her, and he was _safe_ and _alive_.

She thought he’d been dead. Then, at Redcliffe, seeing him in that terrible future like _that_ …

Her fingers tightened reflexively on the stone wall while she watched, frozen, as Otsar’s eyes flicked up. His gaze caught on hers and his grin erupted in a moment, unabashedly relieved. His booming laugh, so familiar, cut through the dreamlike haze surrounding her.

Her brother was _home_.

Athena’s feet barely touched the steps as she flew down them, careless of her healing injuries, ignoring V’s startled squawk. By the time she reached the bottom, he was already there, arms open wide. She grabbed for him greedily, her hands fisting into his coat, tugging him close. Her father’s mother-tongue slipped nearly silently from her mouth, for Otsar’s ears alone. “Where have you _been_?”

His jaw was trembling, he was trying too hard to be strong, to be stoic, to prove himself old beyond his years. He answered in their language, a whisper that he tried to keep jovial. “Tied up. I’m here now. Herald of Andraste, huh? What a-”

“I thought you were dead!” The grief was safe to feel now, she couldn’t drown in it, not when he was in front of her, the only blood she had left to care about. “I thought you were gone and it was…”

She couldn’t say it. She pressed her face into his shoulder and reached up to stroke his hair like she had when he was a child.

“Hey…” He whispered, his own arms curling gently around her, careful of the injuries he could see. “Hey, I see what you’re doing. Stop it. There’s nothing you could have done.”

If she had been with him, if she had been beside him… “I could have-”

Otsar interrupted her. “If you had been with me on the perimeter, these people would have no one to lead them. No Herald. They look up to you, they _need_ you.”

“Then you should have been with me.” She whispered. The Adaars stuck together, they didn’t leave each other. It had been a mistake, it had been…

“If I stayed with you in the temple, I might have _actually_ died.” Otsar pulled back, his grin softening. “As it was, I’ve just been bored as hell.”

She laughed, she couldn’t help it. He looked fine, he looked _whole_ , and for the first time since Haven, she felt like it could all be alright. Felt like she could make this _work_.

A whoop cut through the air, then Yaasin wrapped both Athena and Otsar in her big arms, crushing them both to her chest. Athena felt her bones crack alarmingly, but before she could protest thin arms wrapped around Otsar from behind. Len’s laughing face appeared over his shoulder as the elf tackled Otsar, sending him more securely into Yaasin’s embrace.

She couldn’t see Kata, but she heard his wry laugh from somewhere behind Yaasin. “It’s about time you show up, little horns.”

Athena managed to disentangle herself from Yaasin’s embrace as Otsar squawked in protest, dumping Len off his back and turning around to fight Kata. His eyes finally swung down to V instead, meandering back from the gate and he reached to punch her lightly in the shoulder instead. “V. Keeping Thena out of trouble?”

“Always.” V purred, but her appearance seemed to remind Otsar of something. Even as Len threw his arm back around his shoulders, Otsar’s eyes skipped through the crowd.

“Wait.” He blurted out, frowning. “I came here with-”

“A party!” Yaasin interrupted. “Let’s break open some barrels and show these humans how it’s-”

“In a minute, in a…” Otsar’s eyes were beginning to look worried until V chuckled throatilly.

“She’s having her own party, kid.” V winked pointedly. “Trust me. She’s _fine_.”

“Who?” Athena asked, realizing she was still holding tightly onto Otsar’s coat. She released her iron grip, smoothing the wrinkles left behind.

“Maria.” Otsar answered smoothly, smirking down at V in response. “Maria Cadash. I _knew_ she was in a damn hurry to get back here for a reason.”

_Maria Cadash._ Athena almost laughed out loud. At once, it seemed utterly implausible and yet completely perfect. Of course the petite redhead who seemed to cause uproar everywhere she went, the one who had both Varric and Bull staring after her, was involved. Clearly, Athena had sized her up perfectly from the start, that first moment she’d seen her in the valley.

Brave. Reckless. Clever.

_Good._

“Who is it?” Otsar asked, rolling his shoulders like he was preparing himself for a playful fistfight. “That’s _my_ shortcake now, and if she’s gonna be having a party with anyone I think I should meet them.”

Oh _Maker_ she hoped…

V’s grin gave it away before she even said anything and Athena felt the relief break over her. She was as much for experimenting as the next person, but she had _no_ idea how Bull planned on making a dwarf fling work. Besides…

“Varric Tethras.” V answered Otsar with an innocent flutter of her lashes.

Those two were _perfect_. It would take a fool to ignore how _perfect_ they were together. Although, to be fair, the two of them had been dancing around it like _idiots_.

“Varric Tethras?” Otsar echoed, gleeful, turning to spear Athena with his grin. “The author? The one you keep outselling?”

“Shush.” She commanded with a smile. “He doesn’t know.”

And she certainly had no reason to tell him. She had never wanted to be famous, hence the pen name. She simply wanted to share a story.

At least Varric was far away from her exuberant brother at the moment and utterly preoccupied for the next several hours at least, quite possibly all night.

“Where’s everyone else?” Otsar asked impatiently. And Athena saw every single smile drop immediately.

Everybody else was _gone._ She’d come with a full company of the Valo-Kas, _her_ company. Eleven of the best and brightest they’d recruited. She could conjure their ghosts like she’d just seen them, Laine’s delicate human hands deftly chopping an onion by the campfire while Len and Rael argued over the best hunting techniques, Rael expounding the virtues of the Dalish method. Jarat trying to chop a tomato to help pretty, young Laine but using a Maker-forsaken _spoon_ while Taasir laughed quietly.

She’d come with eleven. She emerged from the temple with _four_.

Not four, she reminded herself, gently touching Otsar’s shoulder and swallowing her grief. _Five._

“They’re gone.” She whispered gently. Gone to the Maker or Creators or into the abyss, who knew. “We’re all that’s left.”

Yaasin wrapped Otsar into an even more bruising embrace, the intense sorrow threatening to eclipse the joy of having him back again. Otsar looked stunned, shell-shocked, his eyes wildly swinging to the remaining Valo-Kas. She could see the thought in his face as Len patted his shoulder.

_This was it_.

“Atrast tunsha. Totarnia amgetol tavash aeduc.” Otsar murmured softly, the words completely foreign to her, although V scoffed from her elbow.

“Where in the ancestor’s name did you pick that…” V started, then stopped, shaking her head and exhaling the name like a curse. “ _Maria_. You know _she_ knows that stuff about the stone is bonkers too, right? She just repeats it cause she was raised that way.”

“What does it mean?” Athena asked, intrigued.

“Roughly?” V sighed. “The stone takes what belongs to the stone and we’ve gotta say goodbye regardless of what we want.”

They had to move on. Her comrades, her team, her brother, her _friends_ , they were here and she could finally almost breathe again.

“Let’s go have a drink.” Yaasin ruffled Otsar’s hair affectionately. “For them.”

“Yeah.” Otsar tried to bring the beaming, broad grin back, but he couldn’t quite manage it with the same enthusiasm.

He didn't know. To them, this loss was a healing wound, but to him it was fresh and he’d have to carry the grief with his joy. He was so young to have to learn to do so, but she could see him already carrying it with a grace that reminded her, startlingly, of her mother.

Yaasin spun him towards the stairs and Athena took one last, steadying look around the courtyard. Cullen shouting orders in the corner, someone singing quietly as they carried a basket on their hip, and there, in the stables…

He was too far away for her to read the expression on his face properly, but she swore she could see a smile under Blackwall’s beard. She wondered, blushing, if he had observed their reunion from afar in silence, watching while leaning casually against the sturdy wood.

“Wait.” Otsar must have looked over his shoulder for her, and when Athena turned to look at him she saw he was grinning speculatively, jerking his chin at the quiet man in the shadows of the stable. “Who’s beardy?”

Yaasin laughed warmly, tightening her hold on his shoulders. “You’ve missed the best gossip, little horns.”

“It turns out...” V’s voice trilled softly as she began to swagger away, leaving Athena to catch up. “ _Somebody_ is quite fond of beards.”

Athena didn’t think, she just reacted. She shoved V forward solidly with one hand in the aggravating woman’s coat. Graceful V barely even stumbled, laughing loudly as she took off up the stairs, the rest of them following in her gleeful wake.

* * *

The news about the Inquisitor’s brother spread like wildfire through Skyhold. And with that, a stream of both well-wishers and gawkers infiltrated the tavern. First, of course, were the people who formed her team. Cassandra, who rather formally introduced herself to Otsar with a stiff handshake and apologized for being unable to locate him in the aftermath of the explosion. Otsar waved it away with nonchalance and an easy grin that didn’t quite fool Athena as her brother tried to cajole the Seeker into having a drink.

Cole slipped in and sat quietly beside Athena for a moment before speaking. “He’s home now, he thought he’d never find home again, but you’re here.”

Athena swallowed quickly and squeezed the spirit’s shoulder. “Thank you Cole.”

“The Nightingale is angry.” Cole advised quietly. “The bird came back and said _she_ stole the horse. Sometimes they say I steal things too, but I’m only trying to help. Like _she_ was.”

“I know. I’ll talk to her.” Athena promised, watching as Yaasin raised her mug again for another toast, one all the Valo-Kas and poor Cassandra had to take part in. “Is he alright?”

“Yes.” Cole answered softly. “It’s a clean wound, there aren’t any knots. It’ll heal.”

The door to the tavern opened again and Athena looked up, smiling warmly at the tall elf that carefully closed the door behind him. Solas looked as if the noise level _inside_ the makeshift tavern was already inspiring a headache, but he still managed to call a slightly pleased smile to his lips as he took in the scene in the corner. He approached with confidence. “I am pleased the rumors are true, Inquisitor. May I offer my congratulations on your reunion?”

“Thank you, Solas.” Athena offered quietly. “You didn’t have to come, I know this is-”

Just as she was speaking, Otsar pulled a pleasingly plump, squealing and laughing serving girl into his lap and Athena rolled her eyes skyward in a silent plea for patience. “I know this is boisterous for you.”

“I have no ill will towards youth.” Solas offered, although even he couldn’t help flinching as Kata’s elbow caught a precariously balanced mug and sent it shattering to the floor before Len could catch it. “Although I hope they don’t move onto breaking furniture.”

“Like the bed.” Cole murmured softly.

“The bed?” Athena questioned, lost.

“It’s broken.” Cole turned his pale eyes to hers, blinking steadily. “And the stones are falling.”

“Perhaps the landing is soft, Cole.” Solas reassured, even though Athena wasn’t quite certain she could follow the gist of this conversation. She wished she could see into the fade as well as Solas seemed to, it would help her make a bit more sense of what Cole was saying.

“Athena!” Otsar hollered, pointing to the door again even as he pressed the giggling girl even closer to his chest. “Did we get a new guy?”

She followed her brother’s eyes to the hulking figure ducking through the door. Bull paused just inside, taking in the scene with his one good eye and a smirk. Athena watched as V ducked up to Otsar’s ear, whispering the most important information, the things Otsar needed to know to keep himself safe.

That the hulking Qunari striding good-naturedly though the tavern was Ben-Hassrath, but only barely, and that Athena trusted him, even though she maybe shouldn’t.

Bull was just a tool to the Qun, one that still had some life in it so they couldn’t quite bring themselves to discard it, but one so twisted that he was best out of sight and mind. The Qun didn’t see Bull as a person, and she hoped someday, soon, he’d realize it.

“Bull!” She called as Cole and Solas took the opportunity to slip away. “Bull, this is…”

“Imekari.” He interrupted in her mother’s language, taking Otsar’s juvenile stature in with one level glance. “Shit, boss. Did anyone know they were pulling a kid out of the fire?”

“Don’t listen to her, sweetheart.” Otsar crooned to the giggling brunette. “He’s just a jealous old man.”

No. They hadn’t. Leliana’s idea, to prevent someone from trying to use the teenager against her. “I’m sure they figured it out.”

Before Bull could respond, a shriek of joy pierced the air and a tiny, lanky figure threw herself from the upper level of the building solidly into Yaasin’s lap, knocking over another mug of ale. Len was ready that time and managed to stop it from shattering on the ground, although the alcohol was gone.

“A party, right?!” Sera squealed. “Why wasn’t I invited?”

Athena followed Sera’s path of entry to stare directly into a handsome, sculpted face examining the ruckus below with a small smile. Dorian met her eyes with a small, brief nod.

It said all the words that he needed to say, a quick ‘see? It’s all well.’

It wasn’t enough to banish that terrible future from her mind. Sometimes, when she closed her eyes, she could still see Otsar’s ruby eyes glowing with the red lyrium poisoning his veins, could still hear the eerie cadence of Blackwall’s voice echoing with horrible wrongness. Still caught herself checking Varric’s wrist to make sure she wouldn’t find a glinting, golden chain with the Cadash crest emblazoned proudly on the charm, the last trace of the lost Maria Cadash.

But all was well, and she could smile at her brother as Dorian retreated into the shadows.

All was well.

* * *

Her brother was cheerfully drunk by the time she dragged him up to her room. Night had long fallen, but he was still humming an old drinking song, something Yaasin had taught him, far too loudly. Athena had to practically carry him up the damn steps before he collapsed on the long couch somebody had found for her, his lanky legs stretched straight out and his grin still broad while he appraised their new surroundings.

“Inquisitor.” He tested the word with a smirk. “Fuckin’ human nonsense, but you’ll do good, ‘Thena.”

“Your confidence is inspiring.” Athena ruffled his hair, smiling down at him. “Think you can get your boots off?”

“I can’t sleep with ‘em on?” He asked with that shit-eating expression that made her want to slap him, usually. Now she just wanted to hug him and cry.

“Not on my new couch.” She scolded. Otsar sighed and dropped inefficiently to pick at the laces of his boots.

She settled beside him and watched his drink-clumsy fingers struggle charmingly. “Otsar… what happened?”

“Somebody tied my boots wrong, that’s what-” Otsar began to mumble.

“The templars.” She interrupted. “What… what did they do?”

“Asked me to talk.” Otsar finally pulled off one of the boots and tossed it cheerfully, too casually, into a darkened corner. “Then got mad when I wouldn’t _stop_ talking, ‘Thena. Your shit was much more interesting.”

“Otsar…” She sighed, watching as the second boot careened into another corner. She wanted to know. She _needed_ to know. And when he turned a perfectly sunny grin towards her, she knew he’d never tell her.

“I stabbed a templar with Cadash’s little knife.” Otsar claimed, making a grand slashing movement through the air then stopping, piercing Athena with his gaze. “That guy. No-name. On her squad. He said the Inquisition’d throw her in a cell for helpin’ me. With _spiders_. You’re in charge, you can’t let ‘im.”

“She’s safe.” Athena promised. She owed the woman more than she could even put into words, after all. “I don’t think there’s a cell that would hold her anyway.”

With that, Otsar dropped his head on her shoulder. “She’s good people. Smart. Tailor had it out for her, though. But you give her a reason, she won’t go back to the Carta. She could even be Valo-Kas! Like us!”

Smiling, Athena corded her fingers through Otsar’s silky hair, closing her eyes and listening to his steady breathing. He wrapped his arm loosely around her waist as they curled together until he finally spoke, the Tevene words a soft whisper. “I’m sorry. About Rael and Jarat and Taasir. And Laine. Damnit. She was so pretty, and she wasn’t that much older than me, was she?”

She’d barely been twenty. Athena closed her eyes and shook her head. “There’s nothing we could have done for them. I’ve…. I’ve heard it was quick. I don’t think they suffered.”

It was cold comfort and they both knew it. Otsar was silent for a moment before he whispered again. “Sing for me?”

He sounded so suddenly, heartbreakingly young. Imekari, a child whispering in the dark for her to please leave the candle lit so that the darkness couldn’t get them. Athena dug her fingers deeper into his hair and choked on her sobs of grief and joy. “Of course I will. Our lullaby?”

“What else?” He asked, voice trembling.

Athena wrapped her other arm around him and held him tightly, taking a deep breath, before she began to sing softly. And she kept singing, even as Otsar’s breathing evened into something heavy with sleep and the fire burned down in the grate. When Athena finally settled him down and threw a heavy quilt over him, she stumbled to her bed exhausted.

She slept better than she had in weeks.

* * *

Athena still awoke far before most of the fortress did. Otsar slumbered on, one leg hanging off the narrow couch, his mouth wide open and drool pooling alarmingly on her upholstery. She simply shook her head and descended into the castle, straight to the kitchen.

The staff were already bustling and the second the head maid saw her, the girl whirled on her feet to pick up a tray. “Knew ye’d be down, your worship. Had to stop ‘hat dwarf from taking more than one honey roll so we’d ‘ave one nice and warm for ye.”

“You didn’t have to do that for me, but thank you.” Athena took the tray with a warm smile, tilting her head. “Which way did the dwarf go?”

“Up to ‘is room most likely. Fool man. Thinks ‘e can do whate’er he pleases. Shirt half unbuttoned, sendin’ the girls into a tizzy. They’re devastated he didn’t even flirt with ‘em today.” The woman sniffed, and Athena got the distinct impression that had Varric done a bit more flirting, he may have actually gotten the second honey roll. The man’s head must have been in the clouds to miss such an obvious sign.

“Thank you. Could you send a tray up to my room in an hour or two? For my brother. He’ll… he’ll probably want two of everything.”

“Boys.” The woman sighed fondly. “We’ll get it to ‘im don’t worry milady.”

With that, the woman waved Athena out of the kitchen. She took a shortcut, perhaps one only she had discovered so far. Cole had pointed it out, and thank Andraste for that. Her longer legs meant she could’ve caught up to Varric, but she was still too sore to try it.

Besides, emerging around the corner just in front of him meant she got a chance to catch that open, honest happiness before he smothered it on instinct, grinning up at her. He had a tray laden with breakfast, enough for two people piled on one plate, but he’d snuck a second cop for the steaming pot of coffee.

But most poignantly, there was one tiny bunch of bright blue wildflowers by his thumb. It stirred all the latent romanticism in her heart _immediately_.

“Your Inquisitorialness.” Varric greeted. “It’s a fine morning, isn’t it?”

Varric hated mornings, the sun, the cold, and _anything_ that roused him out of his bed before eight. Maria Cadash had put him in a very fine mood indeed if he couldn’t summon a single complaint. “It is. My brother’s here.”

Maker that felt good to say. Varric’s smile softened and he nodded. “I heard. Hell of a party last night. Sorry I missed it.”

He didn’t look sorry for a moment. He looked as smug as a cat that ate the canary. Athena fought the urge to roll her eyes but smiled anyway as she fell in beside him. “He was looking for Miss Cadash. She’s the hero of the hour.”

“Princess is here?” Varric asked quickly. Far too quickly. “Damn. Guess I better work on settling up my gambling debts before she decides to rob me blind.”

“Varric…” Athena chastised pointedly, sweeping her sharp gaze across his overflowing tray with the two cups.

Varric kept his innocent mask up, but it cracked just enough for Athena to see the pointed thoughts in his eyes. She sighed as she took in his expression. It wouldn’t be easy, not for them, not caught between the bloody hands of the Carta and the even bloodier knives of the Guild.

Dwarven culture was _ridiculous_.

“I’ll walk you to your room.” Athena declared, removing her honey roll from her plate and dropping it pointedly on Varric’s. They were, after all, one of Maria’s favorites. “Maybe she’ll be hanging around waiting to collect.”

“That wouldn’t shock me.” Varric suddenly looked _actually_ nervous. “But you don’t have to. If I find her, I’ll send her your way.”

“I insist.” Athena had questions about what her brother had gone through, and Maria would answer where Otsar wouldn’t. “I’ll even wait outside in case she’s in there waiting to shake you down.”

“Well, guess you were gonna see the requisition form anyway.” Varric mumbled as they turned the corner.

Athena didn’t understand, until _suddenly_ she did.

Up the hallway from where they stood was the door to the room Varric had taken. Stacked haphazardly outside the room was a load of splintered wood. Athena blinked slowly, almost turning to ask Varric what it was before she realized.

It was a _bed._

The back of her neck grew warm without her permission. Varric simply hummed a little under his breath, very carefully not meeting her eyes.

“How?” She didn’t really want an answer. Varric was built like a boulder, yes, but Maria was a soft, curvy little thing.

How in Andraste’s name had they _managed_ to break the bed?

“Crazy story.” Varric started smoothly. “You’re not even going to believe it. It all started when…”

_The bed is broken, and the stones are falling._

“Save it for later, Varric.” Athena couldn’t face Maria Cadash’s wicked eyes with these questions and that visual so clear in her head. “Tell Maria to come find me. _Later_. And try not to break any more of our limited furniture.”

“Oh, we’ll try.” Varric laughed under his breath as Athena fled as quickly as she could, the laughter bubbling inside her as well.

* * *

Athena didn’t look up when Maria slipped into the war room and clung to the shadows in the corner of the room. Athena’s focus was completely on the map in front of her, forehead wrinkled in concentration while she spun a map marker between her fingers.

Maria coughed before stepping into the sunlight, careful of startling their new Inquisitor. “You were looking for me?”

Athena didn’t flinch, although her eyes flicked quickly to Maria’s face and her fingers tightened for a moment on the little figurine before she sat it firmly on the tabletop.

Then she turned her full attention to Maria, a kind smile stretching her lips. “You’ve made an impression on Otsar. He’s fond of you.”

Maria scoffed without thinking. “He _ought_ to be after that business with dragging his ass out of the Hinterlands.”

Athena’s smile fell into something at once sad and concerned. “How bad was it? He wouldn’t say.”

_Fucking Otsar_. Maria didn’t want to say either, but she knew what it was like to be the older sister. The responsible one. She held her breath for a moment and stared up into Athena’s dual colored eyes, considered her options.

Then she released it in one sigh and shook her head, crossing arms over her chest defensively. Best to get it over with fast, at any rate.

“It was bad. We found him chained up in a basement of some old, abandoned chantry deep in the Hinterlands. Rogue templars had him, not the red ones though, thank the sodding stone. He’d been beaten, bad, but he was still in fighting condition when we got to him.”

Athena blanched and Maria hitched her shoulders up before muttering “It could have been worse.”

“I know.” Athena whispered, tearing her eyes away. “He could be dead”

Guilt twisted uneasily inside her and Maria opened her mouth to argue _immediately_. “Listen. I know Nightingale and Tailor are going to be throwing a fit about the horse and me taking Hot Shot with me, but he was gonna go no matter what they did to try and stop him. I tried to keep him out of trouble. The only danger we ran into were the red templars climbing out of the avalanche but-”

“They climbed out of the avalanche?” Athena interrupted quickly. “For the love of- how many?”

Maria shrugged. “Far too many for my comfort.”

Athena sighed and looked despairingly back down at the map. “We have such a long way to go.”

For some reason the word _we_ struck a chord, rendered her momentarily mute. Maria blinked a few times before she swallowed the emotion. “You’ll do great. You always have.”

“So have you,” Athena stated.

For a moment, the silence hung heavy. Then Athena swung her gaze back to Maria and studied her. Maria scrambled to throw her mask of careful aloofness up under the scrutiny, watching the woman warily.

“You were dead,” Athena murmured. “In Redcliffe, in the future. Varric and Otsar said you _died_. The Elder One, Corypheus, his people took you and murdered you while you were trying to smuggle refugees out of Orlais.”

The hair on Maria’s neck stood up but she shrugged. “That doesn’t sound like something I’d risk my neck doing.”

“Yes it does.”

Athena’s dismissal, warm and genuine as the fondness in her eyes, almost undid her. As it was, all she could was hunch her shoulders against it. “Well. At least it’s not a boring way to die.”

“Stay.” It was a plea and a command all at once, and the urge to give into it was overwhelming. “Stay here. Help us. Don’t go back to the Carta. Don’t go back to Ostwick.”

Ostwick. _Home_. Nanna was waiting for her, Maria _said_ she’d come back after the Breach was sealed, but things were different. Things had changed. There were mad templars and cultists and…

_Varric’s stubble against her neck while he whispered promises in her ear and traced steady fingers over her ribs_...

“Leliana isn’t gonna like it,” she protested weakly. “I broke a whole shit ton of rules.”

“Then you’ll answer to me. Directly.” Athena declared, like it was easy to do. Like she _could_. And fuck, if anyone could, it’d be Athena.

Still Maria hesitated. Torn. And then, of course, Athena shattered all of it with two more careful sentences.

“We need you. _Varric_ needs you.”

It wasn’t true. It couldn’t be true. But the siren’s call of that statement, the sudden yearning for it to be the truth, was too much to bear.

“I want paid.” She couldn’t say yes, but she could say that. “And Nanna gets first dibs at the lyrium contracts.”

“If we keep you, it’s worth it.” Athena said simply. “I’ll handle it. I’ll handle Leliana too.”

What _couldn’t_ Athena handle? Maria laughed, shook her head, and rolled her tense shoulders. “Alright then.”

The woman presented her palm and Maria waited only a second before snatching it, allowing her hand to be engulfed in Athena’s massive one while they shook. There was something… sacramental about it. The closest thing Maria had done to devote herself to _anything_ in a long goddamn time.

Of course, it was immediately ruined.

The doors flew open behind them in a resounding clatter that had both Athena _and_ Maria reaching for hidden blades before they caught sight of the lanky, bleary eyed young Qunari in the door frame.

But it wasn’t his sister that Otsar’s incredulous gaze found, but Maria’s smaller frame. Otsar locked on her and shook his head in disbelief.

“You _broke_ a _bed_?” he squawked, indignant. “How in the Maker’s name did you _break_ a _bed_? You’re _tiny_.”

Athena groaned and covered her flushing face with her palm, but Maria could do nothing but choke on her own laugh while she stared down Otsar’s playful outrage.

“Practice makes perfect, hot shot. You’ll see when you’re older.”

“You’re both ridiculous,” Athena grumbled. “I see why you get along.”

“We’re _not_!” Otsar protested. “We’re just…”

“Relentless?” Maria offered wryly.

Otsar winked, wrinkling his nose in amusement. “I was gonna say rakish, but whatever floats your boat, Shortcake.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so so much for sticking with me for this story, and thank you so much to Tuffypelly for always being a lovely friend and inspiration! I hope you all enjoyed!

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on tumblr at [@cartadwarfwithaheartofgold](https://cartadwarfwithaheartofgold.tumblr.com/) to supply you with dwarves, rare pairs, shenanigans, and angst. [Tuffypelly](https://tuffypelly.tumblr.com/) can be found there swooning over sexy Qunari art and enabling me shamelessly.


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